Vitam Paramus
by TheEndless7
Summary: After tragic losses, Quidditch star Harry Potter is forced to pick up the pieces of those who have vanished; while he finds himself also taking care of another lost soul.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Zaion Indulias for the beta work on this chapter. Also this idea stems from ideas kicked around by Zaion and myself. So he also gets credit there, as well as helping with the title and summary.

Vitam Paramus

Chapter 1

"Potter swerves around Lynch and dives down toward the loose Quaffle. The Catapults seeker ignores him. Potter punches the quaffle back up toward a mob of chasers. There's a midair scrum and the Catapults gain possession as Potter speeds off after Lynch," Reginald Dickerson, the voice of British Quidditch for nearly thirty years, announced in his famous staccato.

He hadn't been scheduled to broadcast this game. In fact, it wasn't even going to be announced locally up until a few days earlier. But the network decided it was too good of an opportunity to pass up, despite being a competition between the two worst teams in the British and Irish Quidditch League.

Neither Harry Potter or Aidan Lynch were listening to Dickerson, they were each too busy looking for the snitch. But there were others listening. Derrick Lunfrey, for one, sat in his box and watched the team he'd constructed play. His eyes lingered on the Cheery Owls cereal advertisement that was on the wall in front of him. He hoped his team could live up to the expectations, and turn everything around.

The general consensus from media and fans was the one of the teams wouldn't be terrible for much longer.

Most fans of the Falmouth Falcons thought the press release was a joke when they'd read it. After all, it had been twenty years since they'd even sniffed the playoffs, and thirty since their last title. In that time their team had transformed from a hard-nosed, tough but clean perennial contender, to a mismanaged mess that often lost twice as many games as they won.

Naturally, attendance and interest dwindled. For a time, Falcons weren't even recognized in Falmouth. There was talk of the owner selling the team, or attempting to move. But none of that ever turned out to be much more than talk. They settled into a routine of ineptness. And the fans had to content themselves with simply beating Chudley year in and year out and hoping that a hot shot draft pick would change their fortune.

It wouldn't.

But their fortunes changed. Their old owner, Edward Lunfrey, head of the Lunfrey Food Company, died. He'd left the Falmouth Falcons to his youngest son, Derrick. Derrick Lunfrey had loved the team for his entire life, and since his graduation from Hogwarts had striven to run the team and bring a championship back to Falmouth.

And for a while, things looked promising. Derrick Lunfrey shed payroll and built his teams through the draft. For a moment it looked like they would make the playoffs. But then they ran into the Ballycastle Bats in the final match of the season. The final score, seven hundred and sixty to forty, made the game sound closer than it actually was. The Bats would go on to start their dynasty that year, winning their first of two titles, while the Falcons would falls back into obscurity.

Derrick Lunfrey would spend money on every top free agent that offseason. Thinking that perhaps they were simply a piece or two away. But the team got worse and Derrick started thinking that perhaps his father had been right, and that the best solution was simply to cut their losses and sell the Falcons.

Derrick hadn't even been paying attention to the legal trouble that started around Norm Wilder. He was too busy worried about how to put a competent team on the pitch. Fortunately, the old contracts had all expired, and he had plenty of salary cap room to try to maneuver. And he had a solid young keeper. But he didn't have anything else.

Fortunately for him, all Norm Wilder had was a quidditch dynasty. Derrick never bothered to figure out just how the man had ruined his finances. He ignored those stories leading up to the start of the quidditch season. But just about the halfway point, he heard news that startled him.

The front office was having a meeting, discussing player development and just how to get out of the cellar for that season. Their seeker was playing better than expected, and they were thinking about trading her to a contender for a king's ransom. Derrick didn't remember the entire conversation, but when one of his advisers commented that there were rumors Wilder couldn't make payroll for the Bats because of his legal troubles, Derrick fled to his office and got onto the floo.

Somehow, the news of what they traded came out well before the trade was finalized, and the rumors returned. The fans knew that the Falcons had traded their next four first round draft picks, a conditional second round draft pick, their seeker, one of their chasers, one of their beaters, and a great deal of cash. He spent a week being lambasted in the local media while the league approved the deal, as no one believed he could get any sort of return worth what he'd sacrificed.

But then the news broke. At first, everyone thought it was just another rumor. But then the British and Irish Quidditch League approved it. Eva Larson, a youthful center-chaser who'd improved every year she'd spent in the league was heading to Falmouth. And she was to be joined by two of her teammates, former league most valuable player Titus Button, who was considered the best beater in the league, and reigning two-time league most valuable player Harry Potter.

Derrick hadn't believed that Wilder agreed to the deal. But he took three large contracts off the Bats's books, and gave up a fortune in both cash and draft picks.

During the ensuing media event Derrick Lunfrey looked like a kid on Christmas. He spoke jovially to reporters about how with a single trade he was sure he'd turned around the franchise.

The cover shot of the Daily Prophet the next day showed a jovial Derrick Lunfrey with an arm loosely around an uncomfortable looking Eva in a too-large Falcon jersey. She appeared to be standing as far away from him as possible. Harry Potter and Titus Button stood in the corner of the picture and looked bored. Their agent appeared to be talking to them, but it didn't look like either of the superstars were listening. Neither of them wore a new jersey.

The three of them also didn't show up for the first team practice. But Derrick thought that was simply because of a bit of miscommunication. The coach had wanted to yell at them, but he'd intervened. After all, they'd have a busy few days. They'd needed to get their uniforms fitted, which Titus complained about, because Falmouth used the standard numbering system. But he'd decided to let them pick their own. The rest of the team could pick their own numbers next year.

And after that they had to find some place to live. The team had offered to help but the three just went off into town on their own. He'd learn later that Potter and Button split a rather large house overlooking the harbor.

After all of that, Derrick's focus shifted to his newly bought team. He'd spent at least ten minutes in the team shop looking at the three new jerseys on the wall. The sixteen of Larson was the slowest seller, but the seventeen of Potter and the eighteen of Button were selling faster than any jersey they'd ever had.

And the ensuing game with the Catapults had been their first sellout that wasn't a promotional give-away day in years.

He'd been in his box for hours before the match. And now he simply watched the game, smiling to himself. The coach had debated not starting them. But Larson had six goals, and Button was breaking up plays left and right, and Potter seemed to be everywhere. It didn't bother him too much that the three ex-Bats were almost ignoring the four Falcons on the pitch. But the chemistry would come with more games played.

"And we have a stoppage!" Dickerson announced. The Catapults had called a time out. All of the players flew to their benches except for Harry Potter and Titus Button.

"I hate grey," Titus complained as he flew up next to Harry. "I feel like I'm wearing a fucking road uniform."

"You'll get used to it," Harry commented idly. He was gazing around the pitch. While he couldn't catch the snitch in a stoppage, he could still find it and track it if play resumed. Although, most snitches tended to hide out of play during stoppages.

"I hate the broom too," Titus commented, he twitched left and right on his new Comet and frowned. Harry shrugged. The Comet Falcon Mark Nine seemed pretty identical to his old Cleansweep Bat so he wasn't complaining.

"It was your idea to waive the no-trade clauses," Harry laughed. Titus just shrugged.

"Well we weren't going to get paid in Ballycastle," Titus commented.

"Not all of us care about money," Harry commented.

"Pretty sure we signed identical five year, forty-five mil contracts," Titus said.

"Nope, mine had a bonus-clause for snitch catches," Harry commented.

"Really? My bonuses were just for championships and awards," Titus said.

"Well play a more important position," Harry commented. They broke apart as play resumed. Harry may have had to dodge an extra bludger or two for the duration of the match, but it was all good-natured fun.

Harry kept his focus on the snitch. But he knew most of his mind was elsewhere. He never thought he'd be traded from the Ballycastle Bats. It seemed absurd to even think about it. He'd been happy enough there. He liked his teammates, he liked the city, he liked everything about it.

And now he wasn't sure how he felt. His new home in Falmouth had a nice view. But he wasn't sure how long he'd stay there. He wasn't sold on living with Titus and Eva. But they had more than enough space.

He was fairly sure that Titus felt exactly the same way. At least they weren't alone. Harry could hardly believe that the beater had bothered him tremendously his rookie year. But that had changed relatively quickly. They just got along, and they really enjoyed heading out to bars after matches.

Really, Harry just appreciated that Titus has never once seemed to be in awe of him. He never mentioned the war, and he never asked Harry about anything in his past. They talked about alcohol, girls, and quidditch, and it was wonderful, and refreshing.

He swerved around Lynch, mostly just to make the Irish seeker remember he was still there. Neither of them had seen the snitch yet, but Harry suspected it would show up soon. Which would probably be a good thing.

In Ballycastle, they'd never bothered much with Falmouth. The Falcons had been considerably inferior to the Bats. They'd scouted them, sure, but it wasn't with as much interest as they often did the Magpies or the Harpies.

But they'd traded the only talent they had. The keeper was okay. But Button couldn't be the entire defense. And while Harry thought Eva was very talented, she wasn't a defensively minded chaser. And it didn't help that Button's defensive partner was barely good enough to be playing professionally, or that the other two chasers focused entirely on goals.

Harry shook his head a bit as he watched the Catapults stretch their lead. He distracted a bludger, getting it to focus on him, before bringing it back around toward Titus. His friend intercepted it expertly and used the iron ball to break up the next Catapults rush.

Harry grabbed the stray quaffle without really looking at it. He flipped back around and took the quaffle into the offensive zone. He debated flying straight to the hoops and taking a shot, but decided against it. His new team had a problem with defense, it would be silly if he did something that would be a hindrance to that. And he hadn't seen Lynch for at least fifteen seconds, and that concerned him.

So instead he blindly tossed it back toward where he hoped the chasers followed him into the offensive zone. He then dived immediately, intending to take himself out of the play and hopefully get a scoring chance for his team, while he looked for Lynch.

His counterpart was flying high above the hoops, looking for the little golden ball. Harry skimmed the grass of the pitch and looked as well.

Eventually, he saw it, floating around the middle of the pitch. He pulled his broom up and started to corkscrew around to gain momentum. He saw Lynch diving toward him, but he didn't care. He knew he'd get there first, the snitch was diving toward him anyway.

And moments later it was in his hand. He corkscrewed around Lynch as the Irish seeker passed in his dive and flew straight toward an official as the crowd erupted.

"Harry Potter has the snitch! Derrick Lunfrey's mega-trade has at least paid dividends tonight. But only time will tell if the Ballycastle trio can turn around this team in half a season. But for now, they've snapped the losing streak and revitalized the fan base. I know I'll be eager to see just what they can do!" Dickerson announced, effectively ending the radio feed. Harry only caught the last bit of it as Titus flew up into him, hugging him as he did after every win. The rest of the team joined them shortly.

They all looked at Titus. The beater just shrugged. He'd been the captain of the Bats, but the Falcons didn't have a captain. So after an awkward moment they all just congratulated each other on the match and proceeded back to the locker room.

The Falcons's locker room was a bit roomier than the Bats's. But it was set up far more formally. Harry suspected because of the large turnaround of players the Falcons typically had. So Titus slotted into the number two locker, while Eva slotted into six and Harry slotted into seven. The reserve players sat to Harry's left.

He looked to his right, meaning to make a comment to Titus about something or other as he pulled off his jersey. But once it was off he just found himself staring at Eva in her sports bra. So he looked away and finished changing, using magic to clean himself off, before dressing casually.

"So, victory party?" Titus asked. Harry wasn't sure when he'd walked over toward the other two. But he was standing there, looking bored in jeans and a Falcons t-shirt. Harry noticed a similar one had been put into his locker. Eva pulled one on as well, but she charmed her locker into a mirror, frowned, and then shrunk the shirt a bit and made it pink before returning her locker to normal. Harry just grabbed the shirt he'd brought out of his locker and put it on.

"I can't," he said. "I promised if the game ended soon enough I'd join everyone for the wedding."

"Bah," Titus laughed. "Don't they know you just got traded. You need to get situated," Titus commented.

"And drunk," Eva added.

"And we certainly need to do some sort of team building!" Titus joked, his eyes shifting briefly to the other beater, who just sat quietly in his locker.

"That we do," Eva added, looking at her fellow chasers, who were talking quietly, but still seemed a little shell shocked.

"I mean it's sad," Titus said, looking around a bit, and not seeming to care that the other players could probably hear him. "It's like they don't know how to win."

"Well they are now ten and eighteen," Harry commented. He didn't add that the Bats hadn't lost eighteen in the last two seasons combined.

"So playoffs might be a stretch," Eva laughed.

"Depends on how much the Bats tank," Titus frowned.

"They're still a solid team, even without us," Harry commented.

"Solid yes, but they're not elite," Eva commented.

"Anyway, where are we going to go drinking?" Titus asked.

"I've got a portkey to catch," Harry laughed.

"Oh just go in the morning. The wedding isn't until the weekend anyway," Titus laughed.

"So where do you guys all drink?" Eva asked, loudly, looking around the locker room. The other players looked startled.

"You want us to come?" one of the chasers asked. Eva tilted her head to the side and looked at the chaser.

"Well it wouldn't be much of a victory party if it was just the three of us," Titus laughed. The rest of the players looked a little shocked. Granted, it was pretty much the first time the three new players even acknowledged the old members of the team while they weren't on the pitch. Harry took a moment to really look at all of the Falcons. The reserve beater and one reserve chaser were older league veterans, but the rest of the team looked very fresh. They all had to be first or second year players. He was secretly amazed by how long and green they still looked. Titus, at twenty-five looked as ancient as Harry felt at twenty-two. Even the twenty year old Larson looked older.

He couldn't help but think that perhaps they really did just need something to form them as a coherent team. And he frowned a bit. He'd promised Ron and Hermione to meet them for the Portkey trip to Romania. But he could show up tomorrow. They'd understand.

"Sweeps is good," the reserve keeper said. "It's down by the harbor, has a private bar in the back if we want to keep it small."

"Works for me!" Titus said as he walked over toward the floo.

"Wait!" one of the chasers said. "Mr. Lunfrey always talks to us after matches and then we have media availability."

"That's nice," Titus said. He'd handled most of the post-game rituals in Ballycastle as he'd been captain. But Harry couldn't help but smirk at his lack of interest here. "Potter will do it. He's got a portkey to catch."

"Yeah, not a chance," Harry laughed. "Just tell him we're a bad influence."

"And it's tradition to celebrate the end of losing streaks with massive alcohol binges," Titus added.

"It's your tradition to celebrate everything with massive alcohol binges," Eva commented.

"Well we're not about to stand in the way of tradition," the reserve keeper said and stood. He walked over toward the floo and threw some powder in, stepping through it before anyone else. Moments later the entire team was at the bar.

Needless to say Derrick Lunfrey was not happy when he returned, with the media, to a completely empty locker room.

Sweeps turned out to be a large magical establishment with plenty of loud music and a very large bar. The Falcons, well, at least three of them, were recognized when they showed up. So they simply migrated toward the back of the bar and enjoyed the music and free flowing beer.

Harry took the time to familiarize himself with his teammates. Granted, he knew them by name and scouting report. But it was time to get to know them a bit better.

Sarah Foster was the twenty-one year old keeper. He was rather surprised to learn she was older than Eva, as she looked like she should have been in school still. She'd matured in the Australian junior leagues before moving to England for her final two years in school. She was a solid keeper on a team not known for playing defense.

She'd learned a fair amount from Russell Jones, the older veteran keeper. He'd been an amazing player in his twenties, and had led the Pride to a title years and years ago. But now, in his forties, he was more of a player coach than anything, his primary duties being to help out Foster and fill a required roster spot.

Jordan Wall was the other starting beater. He was a rookie out of Hogwarts who looked completely overmatched at the professional level. But he was a nice kid, a bit quiet as he just sat at the corner of the bar and looked around throughout the party. But Titus made sure to spend some time with him. Harry hoped his friend would be able to help the younger player develop.

He also wondered if it would affect Titus's game at all. As he was more accustomed to playing with the Irish superstar beater Finbar Quigley. But only time would tell, and Titus had been a force by himself in tonight's match.

Cora Toivanen was their left wing chaser. She appeared to be hitting it off with Eva. She was another rookie, but she came out of Finland. Most scouts were a bit surprised when she signed with Falmouth rather than a European league team. All Harry really knew about her was that she was exceptionally pretty with long blonde hair. She'd been injured to start the season and had only played in five games so far.

Harry spent most of his evening though, with the other wing-side chaser. Ben Neal. He was in his second year and actually had decent numbers the season before. But he tended to try to make too much happen and wasn't known for using his teammates much. Which simply caused opposing teams to focus on him during matches.

Harry wouldn't admit it, but he was rather worried about their scoring line. Eva tended to like to make plays more than shoot. Although she'd scored some very nice goals that match. But she'd been left alone for a large portion of it because the Catapults had focused on Neal. And he'd given the chasers way more support than he would like to, or be able to, when they played against better teams.

But he didn't worry about that. Ben seemed thrilled to be at a victory party. Harry bought him another beer and continued their conversation. He didn't focus much on the reserve players. Sure, he talked to them, but he knew them a bit better than the starters. So he spend the majority of the time trying to learn everything about his new teammates.

But after a few beers he stopped focusing on that. Instead the conversation between he, Titus, and Ben turned into which player in the European leagues they would most like to sleep with. And really, the rest of the night simply went downhill from there. At some point, some media found them, and snapped a few photos of players with drinks. But nothing was going out of hand enough to really be any sort of big news.

Not too long after, more locals started to filter into the bar. Harry and Titus found themselves signing napkins and things of that nature simply to be nice. It seemed too early in the honeymoon phase of a new team to start annoying the fans for annoying them.

Harry bought a few rounds for some of the locals in the bar too, and they spent a good majority of the evening just drinking, talking, being accessible and wondering if it was possible to revive quidditch in Falmouth.

Eventually, though, the victory party came to an end. Cora and Eva left first. They left together, giggling about some sort of already established private joke. Titus elbowed Harry in the ribs with a grin as the two girls left. Harry just shook his head and laughed quietly, before informing Titus that he thought he was nuts.

After that, though, people started to trickle out of the bar at a relatively steady pace. Harry and Titus stayed to close. Although they stopped drinking a bit before then. Once they were the last two in the establishment they split the bill. The owner had been a little surprised, Harry suspected he thought that he'd have to attempt to bill the Quidditch team if he wanted any sort of payment. But the two superstars paid without question and left a very generous tip before they wandered back into the streets of Falmouth.

They walked back to their new home, mostly to attempt to get a feel for the city. While they'd probably do most of their traveling by magical means, they liked to scout out areas where they were. On the road, they often wandered around the cities if they had a day off. So they really just attempted to get their bearings, talking about the evening and looking for other bars and restaurants to visit as they did.

When they arrived home there was a glowing note in the fireplace telling them they had practice the next morning, and to make sure they were on time. But neither of them paid more than a passing glance at it.

Eva had claimed the first floor bedroom of their three story home in the docks. She'd wanted her own bathroom. Titus and Harry weren't about to bother. Her door was closed and no light filtered out from under it. Harry summoned a bottle of water and immediately started upstairs, wondering how he'd feel about having roommates again.

He suspected he wouldn't care as he stepped into his own room and found it was set up identically to his small apartment in Ballycastle. He'd have to thank the team elves for that, he suspected. He knew they'd be under orders to make the transition easier. And it had been so much easier for the three of them to just split a large house with plenty of room. Especially since the teams forced players to have a residence in their city. Harry would spend most of the off season in London. Titus had a place there too, but they didn't spend much time together in the off months. Often only being thrown together for promotional events.

The offseason was when Harry preferred to not think about quidditch, and to catch up with his friends and generally relax. It made life easier. He also typically took at least a week to go somewhere warm and just hang out. It was nice to not have any requirements for those months.

He set his alarm with his wand and crawled into bed, wondering if he should bother to go to practice the next morning, or just make his way to Romania for the wedding. From what he remembered, most of the portkeys heading there were in the afternoon to evening, so he really had no legitimate excuse to miss practice, but he'd check the paper in the morning.

Harry was exhausted when his alarm went off, waking him rather promptly with loud banging firework spells. He sat up and yawned before getting out of bed. He magically cleaned himself, and found he still felt a little bit grimy. But he figured he could just take a shower after practice and be on his way.

He dressed and wandered down stairs. There was no sign of Titus but Eva was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter in a Ballycastle Bats tank top and shorts.

"I don't think the Falcons are going to like those," He laughed.

"I'm not charming my entire wardrobe," Eva laughed. "I'm sure they'll supply more clothing eventually."

"Probably, you seen the paper?" Harry asked.

"Table," Eva said. Harry walked over to the kitchen table and grabbed it. He caught the main headline out of the corner of his eye as he flipped to the Portkey schedules. It was something or other about a missing shopkeeper. He'd read the article after practice. But it didn't seem that important for now.

"Tea?" Eva asked as he scanned the timetables.

"No thanks. Titus up yet?" Harry asked.

"He went for a run," Eva said, sipping her tea. "He said he'd meet us at the stadium."

"Ten says he's late," Harry laughed.

"Probably," Eva laughed. "He's always late."

"Falcons are going to love that," Harry laughed.

"Lunfrey does seem to be a bit of a pain in the ass," Eva nodded.

"That he does," Harry agreed. He saw that the next portkey to Romania was at four in the afternoon. He nodded a bit and tossed the paper back down on the table.

"They'll just have to get used to it," Eva laughed.

"They only will if we win," Harry commented.

"Oh we'll win," Eva smiled. She had an infectious, dimpled smile that lit up her face. She took a moment to pull her brown hair into a pony tail.

"I hope so," Harry laughed. He nodded toward the fire. "Shall we?"

"Sure," Eva laughed, walking over toward him and they both flood to the locker room. It was quiet at that point, but Harry didn't really notice. He pulled on the white falcon jersey with a grey falcon on the chest and wandered out to the pitch, doing some basic flying drills before the rest of the team joined him.

Eva was the first out. Harry played catch with her for a few moments before Cora joined them as well. After not too long the coach came out as well. He looked at Harry a little curiously, but didn't say anything.

Amazingly, Titus showed up on time, and practice commenced as normal. Practice went pretty well. The coach led it for the first half, which felt odd to Harry as Titus typically ran practices in Ballycastle. But he figured it was just something else he'd have to get used to.

After a while, though, their coach, Ralph Davis, insisted Harry call out plays and run drills. That felt even more odd. He'd made a mental note to tell the coach that he had no interest in being captain. Titus was better suited for the position, and certainly had far more experience with it.

Sensing he was uncomfortable with it, though, Titus essentially took over. When Coach Davis noticed that he called Button off and asked for Eva to start running the practice. She looked very startled but did a fairly decent job of it. Titus just shrugged and listened to her orders, rather than making a big deal out of it.

Toward the end of practice Harry noticed two people arguing with the coach on the pitch. He recognized them quickly enough. Daphne Greengrass was yelling at Derrick Lunfrey. Daphne represented Titus and Harry as part of the Smith, Smith, and Brave agency. She devoted a fair amount of time to her top tier clients. But it was still surprising that she showed up at the pitch. Typically if they had to meet they'd do it over lunch.

Harry couldn't help but notice that they were pointing at him, too, so he flew down and landed on the pitch next to them.

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"You haven't heard, have you?" Daphne asked, looking at him.

"Of course he's heard," Lunfrey spat. "And it's a testament to his devotion to Falcons quidditch that he's here today!"

"The what?" Harry asked, tilting his head to the side.

"You didn't see this morning's paper, did you, Potter?" Coach Davis asked.

"No. Slept in and came out to practice," Harry said. He didn't mention that he only slept in because he'd gone to bed hammered.

"I see," the coach said quietly.

"I didn't get traded again, did I?" Harry laughed. Daphne shook her head and held out a copy of the morning paper.

"No you didn't," she said, gesturing to it. "I think you should read that." Harry just looked at the Daily Prophet in her hand and shrugged.

"Okay fine," Harry took it from her and looked at the headline he'd saw in the morning. Had he bothered to read it, he knew he wouldn't be at practice.

The headline read 'Shopowner, War Hero, Families vanish in Portkey accident,' and the picture showed George and Ron arm in arm outside of the joke shop. Harry swallowed hard and stared at the picture, before his eyes slipped to the article.

The Portkey he was supposed to take. The one that Eva and Titus had talked him out of. Had vanished. There hadn't been a case of a vanished Portkey in over a hundred years. The last time it happened, no one was ever recovered. The Department of Transportations of both Romania and England were looking into it. As there were many high profile names involved, all of whom Harry assumed were heading to the wedding.

But as he read the names of those who were missing, his breath caught in his throat. He knew ten of them. They were practically family. He dropped the paper and just stared at it on the ground before Daphne and Derrick led him back to the locker room.

Author's Note: As stated, this came about late Friday evening when discussing random story ideas with Zaion. I planned it out on Friday and Saturday and I wrote it on Saturday and Sunday before posting it on Sunday. I'm probably going to juggle it and DiP for a while because I find myself uninterested with DiP and not quite ready to write Tenebrae.

As always thanks for reading and reviewing, I do appreciate it. And the best way to contact me is prolly by PM on this website. But I am also on twitter now and the tag is in my profile.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Zaion Indulias for the beta work on this chapter

Chapter 2

"Nice to see you, Harry," Charlie Weasley said as Harry stepped away from the Portkey landing pad. The stocky red head walked up and hugged him tightly. It was a little odd, but Harry just hugged him back because he wasn't sure what else there was to do. He'd been the only one to take that Portkey to Romania so the terminal was empty at that moment. Harry and Charlie just walked off toward the exit.

"I wish it was better circumstances," Harry said. And then he frowned remember just how that sounded. "Not that your wedding is a bad circumstance." He corrected quickly.

"We're going to postpone it," Charlie said quietly. Harry had assumed as much, but no one had said anything about it to that point. His mind couldn't keep much straight, anyway. And he could only suspect that Charlie was in even worse shape.

"I thought so," Harry said. He wasn't quite sure why he still came to Romania. But Charlie had flooed and asked him to. So here he was.

"But we already have a huge party here. My family was one of the last groups to come in. Talia's had people arriving for weeks." Harry just nodded as they stepped into the next room. He wasn't sure what else there was to say.

Unfortunately, the next room of the Portkey station was crowded. And people in the crowd recognized him. He made his way through quickly enough, somehow managing to lose Charlie in the shuffle. He only had to sign a few pieces of paper, and a few trading cards, and only paused for a few pictures. He suspected that his dour expression helped get him out of there sooner.

"You ever get used to that?" Charlie asked. Harry shrugged.

"Sort of. It becomes routine. I'm almost positive my signature is just a squiggly line at this point, though," Harry commented.

"I bet," Charlie laughed. "Gets it over with sooner."

"It does," Harry agreed, but then smiled a little bit to himself. "Titus actually signs his name different every time. He claims if he does that he can say every autograph is a forgery."

"Except that they're magically verified," Charlie laughed quietly.

"Never said Titus was very bright," Harry commented idly. The Weasley clan had met Titus once or twice at parties and what not. Although most of them found the beater to be a bit abrasive. Ron, for example, hated him because Titus felt pretty much the exact opposite about the Chudley Cannons as he did.

But that just made him think about Ron, and that made his stomach tighten and he just shook his head, trying to get rid of the thought. Charlie paused as well, but didn't say anything until they were outside.

"How are we getting there?" Harry asked, mostly to change the subject, he wasn't even particularly sure where there was.

"Car," Charlie said. Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

"You can drive?" Harry asked.

"No," Charlie said. "We were supposed to take another portkey to the grounds, but the Transportation department doesn't want to take any extra chances so they had a ministry driver come out."

"They let me portkey here," Harry commented as they walked through the car park.

"Yes, a private portkey, created and accompanied by the Romanian Minister of Transportation," Charlie laughed.

"So that's who that was?" Harry said, remembering the dour gentleman who'd met him at the station.

"Indeed it was," Charlie said as they approached a standard looking black sedan. The two of them climbed into the back and the driver started off on his way.

"So do they have any sort of idea?" Harry asked. He wasn't sure how to bring up this topic. If he was honest, he was nowhere ready to discuss it. None of it really seemed real yet. He half suspected it was some sort of elaborate prank. He swallowed hard and shook the thought from his head.

"No," Charlie said.

"What happened?" Harry asked. He'd not received a coherent story in the matter yet. But it had been less than a day.

"They don't know. The ministry was tracking it as normal, and then it just disappeared somewhere over Munich. There are teams investigating where the German Ministry last saw it, as well as here in Romania and England. The French are getting involved too. But there's nothing yet," Charlie explained. Harry just nodded along with him.

"How does a Portkey just vanish?" Harry shook his head. He really didn't understand that part of the story. But he wasn't really in a position to understand how that worked. He'd certainly never learned how to make one, and if he was honest he wasn't entirely certain how they worked.

Typically the quidditch related travel he did was through stadium floos. Sure, they'd stay in opposing cities for a couple of days during stretches on the road, but that was more out of interest in being there than anything confining.

"Hell if I know," Charlie commented. Harry could sense that Charlie didn't really want to be talking about this, so they were silent for a moment before Harry spoke again.

"I should have been with them," Harry frowned. Charlie just shook his head.

"And I should have gotten married back at home. But Talia wanted to have the wedding with her grandmothers one hundredth, and it seemed like a perfectly good excuse to have a weekend long party," he sighed as he spoke.

"So?" Harry asked, looking at the older man, looking a little confused.

"So we're both in shock," he said. "And there's nothing that either of us could have really done, Harry."

"I know. But maybe," he sighed. He knew Charlie was right. And he knew things would just get worse once he actually stopped to think about what happened.

"For what it's worth, Harry, I'm glad that you weren't there," Charlie said.

"Well, I'll do whatever I can to help," Harry said.

"Don't say that," Charlie said, "Or I'll have you look into all the paperwork that the ministry brought over."

"Daphne already is," Harry commented. She'd mentioned it on the way to the portkey.

"Your agent?" Charlie asked. They'd met before, at some sort of gathering. Harry was a little surprised at how easily he was getting along with Charlie. He'd only ever seen him at the occasional Yuletide gathering and Ron and Hermione's wedding.

"Yes. She manages my finances as well. And I was part owner of the joke shop. So she's dealing with some of the preliminaries."

"Is that wise?" Charlie asked, looking a little concerned about the concept.

"Probably not," Harry admitted. "But she's a lawyer. So she already knows more about it than me. I'll probably hire someone else to look over it too, if you don't mind."

"I do not mind," Charlie laughed. "I appreciate it. I'm dreading going through all of that. Mr. Delacour had been handling all of the legal stuff for the family." He let his words trail off. Harry understood why.

"I'll let her know then," Harry said. Assuming Charlie would realize he was likely giving Daphne the green light to go through everything.

"How did you get started on all of that so quickly?" Charlie asked.

"I'm part owner of the joke shop," Harry admitted. Obviously the bit with the start-up money never quite made its way to Charlie.

"That explains how they got started. I never really asked."

"Yeah. Anyway, when the portkey vanished with both Ron and George, they came to me next. Except they got side tracked by my representation. She's figuring out the next course of action. But I suspect things won't be resolved in a hurry."

"What are you going to do with it?" Charlie asked.

"No idea," Harry said. "Probably just hire people to run it."

"Not sell it?"

"No idea. I haven't thought about it," Harry admitted. "Why, do you want to come run it?"

"No," Charlie laughed. "I'd rather keep taming dragons." And Harry just nodded. They were silent for a few moments, Harry simply stared out over at the scenery.

"So," Charlie continued after a pause. "It won't happen now but Talia and I were debating just who your plus one was going to be."

"Really?" Harry asked, looking back toward him. He understood what Charlie was doing. The man simply wanted to talk about anything other than the Portkey accident. "Who did you have?"

"I assumed you were going to come alone," Charlie said. "You were only going to stay for a couple of nights anyway, with your quidditch schedule. I figured you'd just show up and drink."

"That's pretty much what I planned on," Harry admitted.

"Yet you indicated a guest," Charlie commented.

"That I did," Harry responded.

"Well who?"

"Eva was going to come with me," Harry admitted.

"The chaser who got traded with you?" Charlie asked, he looked a little surprised. Harry didn't blame him. He and Eva had never actually been linked to each other in any tabloid rumor or anything.

"That's her," Harry said calmly.

"You two are a couple?" Charlie asked.

"No," Harry laughed. "But she always wanted to come to Romania. And she wouldn't make me sleep on the floor if there was only one bed."

"I see," Charlie laughed.

"And we have the same days off. Titus wanted to come. He was hoping to hit on bridesmaids and young gypsy girls," Harry laughed with Charlie.

"Does he know anything about young gypsy girls?" Charlie asked.

"Probably not," Harry said.

"So they'd probably rob him blind," Charlie commented.

"And you're making me wish I'd brought Titus," Harry laughed.

"Personally, I'm rather glad you came alone," Charlie said. Harry nodded a little bit.

"Seemed unnecessary to bring a girl at this point," he agreed. But Charlie just shook his head.

"No it's not that," he said.

"Oh what then?" Harry asked. Really, he still wasn't sure just what he was doing there. Some officials just thought the Portkey may still turn up. And he figured he should be in the area. He didn't admit it, but he felt lost. And it seemed like a better place to be than in a bar.

He hadn't even tried to talk to Titus about it. But he'd mostly just left practice and gone straight to the Portkey terminal. Daphne had tried to be encouraging, but he hadn't been listening.

It was the type of thing that usually, he'd try to talk to Ron or Hermione about. But he couldn't do that. He frowned as his heart felt heavy in his chest. For the first time in years he felt completely alone once more. He had nothing to focus on to drive the information out of his house.

"I need to ask you a favor," Charlie sighed.

"What is it?" Harry asked. He knew there was next to no chance that he wouldn't agree.

"Gabrielle Delacour," Charlie said softly.

"What about her?" Harry asked. He was still just staring out the window, wondering if they were close to their destination yet as the sun set on the horizon.

"She came in this morning, straight from Beauxbatons, before she read the paper," Charlie admitted.

"Oh," Harry said.

"Talia spent most of the morning with her. But she has family coming in left and right and is trying to be a good hostess," Charlie frowned. He was looking out his window as well.

"How is she?" Harry asked. He didn't remember much of the girl. He'd last seen her perhaps two years earlier at some sort of family gathering. He hadn't paid that much attention to her. He'd spent most of the evening talking about his fledgling quidditch career with Ron and Hermione.

"Not good," Charlie said.

"How so?" Harry asked, although he figured the answer was obvious.

"She's not really talking. When I finally left this morning she was just sitting outside and staring out over the country side. Talia was with her, trying to engage her. But nothing," Charlie said. Harry frowned.

"I can't really blame her," he said. It wasn't far off of what he wanted to do.

"Me either. It's what I want to be doing. Hell, it's probably what I'd be doing if Talia wasn't making me be active," Charlie explained.

"Is it working?" Harry asked.

"No," he said. "Everything still reminds me of one of them. And that just makes me think of all of them."

"I know," Harry sighed. "Have you decided on any arrangements?"

"Not really," Charlie sighed. "Percy is coming in tomorrow. I'm sure we'll discuss that more. But it doesn't really feel right doing anything."

"Because you don't know what happened?" Harry guessed.

"Essentially," Charlie responded. "The authorities can't say for sure they're dead. So it's hard to have a funeral. I mean, it's only been a day."

"A long one," Harry nodded. It had only been half of one for him and he already felt more exhausted than he remembered being since the war.

"Yes, a long one. But still, just a day. I think we'll have some sort of remembrance tomorrow before the party. Mostly, though, I think I'm just going to hope that they show up still," Charlie admitted. Harry turned his gaze away from the setting sun and looked at Charlie for a moment. The older man wasn't looking at him.

"Is that even a possibility?" Harry asked.

"Yes, but a slim one," Charlie said. "Someone with the ministry said it happened before. Sometimes a portkey can just be super late."

"I see," Harry said. He'd not heard of it, but there were plenty of things he'd not heard of.

"So I'm going to put off mourning for a couple of days. See if just maybe there's a miracle at work, and try to stay strong," Charlie admitted. "If, after everyone leaves, nothing has come of it. Well, then I'll have Talia to help me get through it all." Harry didn't really know what to say for that. So he didn't say anything. He just turned his gaze back out of the car. He could see a compound growing larger in the distance.

"So," he said, changing the subject back toward their previous conversation. "What do you want me to do about Gabrielle?"

"Oh. Well, I just figured you're the only one that's going to be here that she knows. Maybe you could spend some time with her. It couldn't hurt. See if that helps her at all. Really, we just don't feel that comfortable leaving her alone at this point," Charlie said. Harry nodded, he understood just what Charlie was implying.

"Doesn't she have any family?" Harry asked.

"No," Charlie said. "Both of her parents were only children. And I think both her grandparents are deceased as well."

"I'll see what I can do," Harry said. He wasn't going to know anyone else at the get together anyway. And he knew he wasn't going to want to party at all.

"Thank you," Charlie said.

"Is that where we're going?" Harry nodded out the window toward the buildings that were growing larger in his window.

"It is," Charlie said. Harry could already see people milling around, even from the distance.

"I thought you said she was a poor gypsy girl," Harry laughed

"I just remember saying gypsy," Charlie commented. "And compared to you or George they're not wealthy." They both winced a bit at the reference.

"Could have fooled me," Harry laughed, attempting to keep the mood in the car light as they pulled up the drive.

"Well, we did go all out for the wedding," Charlie sighed. Harry nodded a bit as he looked around the elaborate furnishings.

"I really am sorry about that," Harry said. Charlie just shrugged.

"We'll make do," he said as the car started to pull up a long drive, heading toward the elaborate building where the ceremony was supposed to take place.

"Do I even want to know how much this was costing?" Harry laughed, gazing around.

"Probably not," Charlie admitted.

"Bill me," Harry laughed as the car drew to a stop. He got out as quickly as he could. He'd never really liked being stuck in cars. Cramped spaces in general tended to give him fits.

"Oh we couldn't do that," Charlie laughed as he got out as well.

"Yes you can," Harry laughed. "I can only imagine how much one wedding must have cost. To have to do it again." He just paused and shook his head. "Bill me. It's the least I can do."

"Harry," Charlie laughed. "We really can't do that."

"OF course we can," a soft voice said from up ahead. Harry looked up to see a pretty, short brunette girl. She had dark eyes and dark features and wore a brightly colored dress that accentuated her form quite nicely. When she moved, the entire ensemble seemed to just flow around her.

"Harry, Talia, Talia, Harry," Charlie said with a smile, gesturing to his fiancé.

"A pleasure to meet you," Harry said, offering her his hand.

"You as well," Talia responded, pulling him into a good natured hug. She let go after a moment and turned her gaze to Charlie. "Now what's this I hear about not taking money?"

"Well we weren't going to charge the guests," Charlie said.

"And we won't. But when someone is offering to give you money, you take it," she smiled brightly. Charlie blushes and looked down, which just caused Talia to laugh and give him a hug.

"Only you," he laughed. But Talia just turned her gaze back to Harry.

"Sign here," she said, holding up a piece of paper and a pen. Harry blinked, but did as she instructed, handing it back to her.

"You're in three-oh-six," she said, taking the paper before handing him a key. "We'll understand if you don't stay the entire weekend as planned. Your bag was already transported from the Portkey terminal."

"Thanks," Harry said, taking the key. The trio started walking up an outdoor marble patio, toward the hotel itself. A few guests stopped by and introduced themselves to him. Harry brushed them off as quickly as possible. It was a few minutes and a couple of autographs later that Talia spoke again.

"Did Charlie discuss our little dilemma with you?" she asked.

"Yes," Harry said. "I'll talk to her. Where is she?"

"Right up there," Charlie said, gesturing up the final few steps. Harry gazed around for a moment before he saw her sitting on the edge of the balcony, staring off into space. Her silvery blonde hair blew gently in the wind. She wore a pale blue with some silver accents. Her lips were curled into a frown and there was nothing behind her blue eyes.

"Wow," Harry said. Talia scoffed under her breath, but Charlie chuckled quietly.

"Achingly beautiful, I know," he said, staring out at her. "Just looking at her makes your chest hurt. It's amazing people aren't lining up by her to try to help her out."

"Yeah," Harry agreed.

"Well, go talk to her so I don't have to worry about her dropping off the balcony," Talia said.

"Okay," Harry said. He walked over toward her. But when he approached he realized he had absolutely no idea what he should say. Or what he should do. He didn't really know a thing about the girl sitting just a few feet away from him, pondering the loss of her entire world. And that frightened him, because he had no idea how to help. And he knew that once the shock wore off, he'd feel the exact same as she did.

Eventually he just stepped around her and sat on the balcony next to her. She didn't move, or really do anything to acknowledge his presence. So they just sat together, watching the sun make its descent over the field. It wasn't until it was dark that she turned to look at him.

"Oh," she said, looking a little startled by his presence.

"Hello Gabrielle," he said quietly. She shifted on the balcony to face him.

"Hello Harry," she said. Unlike her sister, she could pronounce both words. There was no trace of her French lineage in the two words. He remembered her English being good the last time he's spoken with her, a few years back, and it seemed to have only improved.

"How are you doing?" he asked as seriously as he could. His voice was little more than a whisper and, if he was honest, he was fairly amazed that she could hear him over the noise from the party starting behind them. The little French girl just stared at him, like she wasn't sure how to answer that question. In the end, she only came up with one word.

"Poorly," she said. And he smiled. He wasn't sure what made him doing it. And she just narrowed her eyes when he did. But something about it amused him.

"I know the feeling," he admitted. And she just kept looking at him. But then she sighed and nodded.

"I suspect you do," she said. She then looked away from him and gazed back out over the night sky, her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes tilting down toward the ground a few feet beneath them.

Again, Harry didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything.

"How are you coping?" she asked quietly. He barely heard her. He took a moment to think about that before he responded as honestly as he could.

"I'm not," he said. She just turned her gaze back to him.

"What?"

"I'm not," he repeated.

"But you look so composed," she frowned and looked, for a moment, as if she was debating some sort of conundrum.

"I'm not," he admitted. "I really just want to start drinking myself silly. I keep hoping that when I wake up next it will all have just been some sort of terrible dream."

"But you know it is not," she said.

"I do," he said. "But at this point I'm hoping that I'm wrong. It all hasn't set in yet. And I don't really know what else to do."

"I wish I had not come," she said softly. "I do not understand how they can still be having a party."

"Most of them don't realize what happened, either," Harry admitted. "They just assume we're guests of the groom and wonder where everyone else is. Tomorrow, I think, they'll understand more. But for now, they're all just excited for Talia."

"I wish I was," Gabrielle frowned.

"Me too," Harry admitted.

"It all doesn't bother you?" she asked, flipping around on the balcony so she could view the party. She slipped a bit and Harry slid a hand to her back to prevent her from falling. She didn't comment, but he let it drop as soon as she was stable.

"Not as much as the fact that despite signing at least fifty autographs today, no one has asked me how I'm doing," he responded. He intended for it to sound cheeky, but he thought it just came out bitter.

"How are you doing?" she asked, mostly out of instinct.

"About the same as you," he admitted. "But I have some more experience with it. Although, it really doesn't get any easier."

"I just wish I knew what to do," she said.

"You never do," he sighed. "The worst part, for me at least, is that everyone will expect me to say something. And I have no clue what I should say."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Tomorrow, when Charlie and Talia explain why the wedding is postponed. And have their remembrance. I'll be the one that has to talk about how Molly and Arthur took me in during my summers away from Hogwarts. And I'll have to talk about how Ron and Hermione were my rocks during the war. Then I'll have to mention something about George, probably something about the war as well.

"And then I'll have to talk about Ginny. And probably something about youthful love and lie about how I still cared for her. And how I'll really miss her.

"After that I'll have to say something about Bill, purely because it would be improper to leave a Weasley out. But I don't really know anything about Bill. I can tell the same story, I suspect, about how he helped me toward the end of the war. But I haven't spent really any time with he or Fleur since then. I know nothing about them. I can't even really say anything about your sister except that I suspect she really did love Bill, and that she participated in the Triwizard Tournament with me."

"And that will make people feel better?" Gabrielle asked.

"I doubt it," Harry said. "It will make me feel worse. That much I know for certain. But I can't control that. I'll be expected to speak. Because I'm Harry Potter. They won't care that all I'm saying is words meant to appease them. Or that I can't talk about your parents because I only ever met them once, and briefly at that."

"I'm sorry," Gabrielle frowned.

"You have nothing to apologize for. I just have to hope that those few empty words will be good enough for them. Because the things that haunt me more are the things I can't say. I can't talk about how Hermione smiling at me got me through countless nights of the war. I can't talk about how much I wanted her when we were alone in that tent. And I can't talk about how I felt like I betrayed them both by wanting her.

"I can't talk about how a part of me was actually relieved when I thought I had to die. And how I thought that if that ended the war, that perhaps everyone would simply be happy. And how quidditch was more of an escape than anything. It gave me an excuse to not be around. An excuse to let everyone else live their lives. At the very least, though, I do love flying.

"But no. Those are the things I can't ever say in public. And there's more. We all have the things that we can't talk about. The things that should never be mentioned. And those are just a few of mine. But every time I have to talk about the war. Every interview I have to give. Every memorial I have to attend on every anniversary. Those are the only things I can really think about.

"And now, I don't have help for those days. And I can't talk about how that makes me feel," he finished, shaking his head. Gabrielle was simply staring at him. She looked transfixed, almost in complete awe, as he spoke.

"I do not know what to say," she said, after he finished talking.

"Nothing," he said. "There's nothing you can say. After all, this conversation never happened." She just looked at him, her eyes were watering, and he couldn't help but think that, at least, it was better than the empty look.

"What do we do now?" she asked. And he just smiled at her. He knew it looked genuine, but it was the same smile he plastered onto his face for any team appearance or quidditch promotional. It was as fake as it could possibly be, but he had plenty of practice to make it look genuine.

"Now? We're going to go get a drink. And we're going to act like we care a little bit about this party. Because to not do that would be rude. And once we've had our drink, we're going to go to bed. Because tomorrow is going to be even harder than today. And we're both going to need our rest for it," Harry explained. He stood and offered his arm to her. She looked hesitantly at him, her cheeks flushed pink. But she stood as well and took his arm.

"I do not know if tomorrow could be any more difficult than today," Gabrielle said as Harry moved them over toward the bar. He grabbed a glass of wine for each of them.

"It will be," Harry said. "Because tomorrow everyone will know. And everyone will come up to you and express their condolences. And you'll have to smile and thank them. And act like their words mean anything to you when in reality they're hollow. Tomorrow will seem like it will never, ever end. But when it finally does. Well, that's when things finally start to get easier. One day at a time." She couldn't have known that he was speaking more to himself than he was to her. But she seemed to take some comfort in his words, in the knowledge that eventually, things would be better. Even if it did seem like her entire world had ended.

"But it does get better?" she asked quietly, as they finished up their wine.

"Slowly, but yes," Harry responded. He put their two empty glasses back onto the bar and looked at her. She looked exhausted. "What room are you in?"

"Three twenty-two," she responded instantly, blushing a little bit more as she spoke.

"Well, sleep is the best help," he said, and he started to lead her up toward the rooms. She followed without question or comment. He stopped them outside her door. She unlocked it and looked up at him.

"Thank you, Harry," she said. He just nodded and hugged her, tightly.

"Thank you, Gabrielle," he mirrored as she hugged him back.

"For what?" she asked.

"I needed to talk," he said. She just tightened her grip on him. And then she said what he knew had really been frightening her for most of the day.

"It really does get better, right?" her voice was soft. Her breath caught in her throat and she sniffled.

"Yes," Harry responded. "Slowly. But it does. It's never quite the same as it was before. But it does get better." He could feel she was crying. But he didn't acknowledge it. He just held her for a few moments and let her cry. Because he knew that she probably needed to cry. And that she would probably need to cry for a good portion of the evening. Eventually, she broke away from him.

"Désolé!" she said. Harry doubted she ever realized she switched to French.

"Don't worry about it," he responded. "Now get some rest. I'll be around tomorrow. We can grin and bear it together."

"Okay," she said. And with that she slipped into her room. Harry just walked down the hall to his own. But there wasn't much else he could do. He entered his room quickly, but didn't really bother to look around. Instead he went straight to the honor bar.

There wasn't any alcohol in his honor bar. Which both surprised and annoyed him. But he suspected with the amount of free drinks flowing down below there wasn't of a purpose to have it in the room.

He looked at the clock. It wasn't nearly late enough for him to attempt to go to sleep. But he was too far away to floo anyone back in England. He should have had Titus come along. Then he'd at least have a drinking buddy and wouldn't feel like a lush.

Of course, that just gave him an idea. He walked over toward the fire and tossed some of the powder into it. He didn't know if his friend was home, but at least he was within range.

"What?" a gruff voice answered his call a moment later. Harry just smirked a bit.

"Come through, I need a drinking buddy," Harry said. There was a moment of silence.

"Potter?" it asked.

"Yes," Harry responded.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"Oh just come through and get pissed with me and I'll explain everything," Harry ordered.

"I have a match tomorrow," the voice argued.

"You'll be fine," Harry said. And a moment later the fire roared a bit and Viktor Krum stepped through it.

"I am sorry about," he started, but Harry waved him off.

"I don't want to hear about that anymore today. I just want to drink," Harry admitted.

"Well, where is the bar, then?" Viktor asked and Harry just smirked before leading him from the room and down toward the party.

Author's Note: As always, thanks for reading. The best way to contact me is typically through PM on the website. I tend to respond to the majority of those.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Zaion Indulias for the beta work on this chapter

Chapter 3

Harry awoke on the floor of his bedroom. He was leaning against the bed and had a couple of blankets and part of a pillow on the floor with him. He vaguely remembered his choice of roommate being predicated purely on who would be willing to share a bed with him, so he found this ever so slightly ironic.

He sat up, leaning back against the bed. He was only wearing his underwear, but that didn't bother him all that much. Although he wasn't sure if he was in the room alone or not. But he didn't really care, as he saw a glass of water on the bedside table. And he knew that water would be the quickest path to ridding himself of the hangover that would plague his entire day.

So he leaned up a bit to grab it and he drank it quickly. He only got a bit of it on his face. He leaned back against the bed and simply sat for a few moments, leaning against the bed and twirling the glass around in his hand.

But it felt refreshing enough that he decided he wanted more. He picked himself up off the ground and looked around the hotel room. The blankets from the bed were pretty much all over the room.

He was pleasantly surprised to see that there wasn't a naked Viktor Krum in his bedroom still. He remembered drinking far more than the other seeker had. And he vaguely remembered drunkenly rambling on all sorts of topics that just seemed to confuse his Bulgarian counterpart.

Coincidently he was only moderately disappointed that there wasn't a naked gypsy girl in his bedroom. Although, that was probably for the best. He didn't really remember coming back to his room, which didn't surprise him all that much. And he certainly didn't remember throwing things all over the room. But he'd done far worse in a drunken stupor in a hotel room before.

He couldn't help but smile a bit wryly at himself at the memory of the night the Bats won their first league title in the Button-Potter era. Part of him was glad he didn't remember exactly what went on in the hotel after the match. But another part of him wished he had. Purely so he could figure out how the team had managed to work up a twenty thousand galleon bill for damages to property.

All he knew was that he woke up laying in a fountain in the hotel's restaurant. Part of the wall was damaged and water was flowing freely over the floor. But the cold water felt nice around him. About as nice as the body of their youthful chaser felt on top of him. Her hair floated around them in the water.

Interestingly, he had pretty much no memory of talking to Eva that night. Of course, he didn't have any memories of thinking that hopping into a fountain and eventually falling asleep in it was a good idea, either.

He sat up a little before pulling himself out of the water. It wasn't deep, on his back it didn't cover his face. He had to shift the chaser off of him, resting Eva's head on the stone ledge around the fountain.

Harry sat on the edge of the tub for a moment, waiting for the hotel bar to stop spinning. If he was honest, he really didn't remember getting back to the building. He tried to piece together the evening.

He remembered catching the snitch. The golden ball had never felt so good in his gloved hand. His teammates had swarmed him. He had no idea who was hitting him, who was yelling, and who was crying. But it didn't matter. They'd barely stayed composed on the field during the trophy presentation.

Harry remembered grinning widely as Titus handed the large golden trophy to him. He held it above his head in both hands as he spun around the pitch. He handed it off to Finbar Quigley when his turn was over. The old Irish beater was crying. It had taken him twenty-six professional years to finally win his first league title, and he was certainly going to cherish the moment.

The party moved to the locker room after everyone had taken their turn with the trophy. The management staff joined them, bringing champagne, as the symbol of their victory was placed on a table in the center of the room.

They started spraying the champagne almost immediately. Only some of the players bothered even taking off their jersey. They were all given shirts proclaiming the Ballycastle Bats the league champions for that year. And all the shirts were almost immediately covered in alcohol.

The celebration lasted for around an hour before they cleaned themselves up, magically, and actually changed into street clothing. Harry pulled on a pair of a dark jeans and a Ballycastle Bats t-shirt. He picked a very basic one out of his collection, a standard black dry-fit material with a red bat logo on the chest.

Moments later, they portkeyed, as a team, back to Ballycastle. From there the championship trophy went on its own little victory tour.

Harry remembered the first four bars. They stopped at one small dive near the stadium, a favorite of theirs for post-match celebrations purely because the owners, a diehard Bats fan, often made sure they had as much privacy as they wanted. The man looked astonished when Titus walked in carrying the trophy. They spent more time posing for pictures than they did actual drinking, but they were all a bit tipsy by that point, anyway.

The next bars had all been more fun. They'd simply migrated between hangouts, celebrating at each one they came to. The fans were fantastic, and everyone seemed amazed to see the league trophy. Harry and Titus got the majority of the attention. And the party just continued, for hours and hours, location and location.

Harry vaguely recalled that, after they'd closed one of their favorite bars, the team couldn't really think of much else to do. He wasn't sure who suggested showing up at one of the hotels, as it was almost time for them to open for breakfast. But something about eggs and bacon seemed like a universally good idea.

And that's where things got excessively fuzzy for Harry. He couldn't really recall getting to the hotel. He certainly didn't recall anything that went on while they were there, and he didn't remember whenever he decided to fall asleep.

Eventually, when he climbed out of the fountain, not feeling nearly as ridiculous as he probably should have, his only thought was on where he'd left his wand. He was a little surprised that it wasn't in his pocket.

His head hurt too much to worry adequately about it. Thankfully, he managed to find it a few moments later, at the bottom of the fountain. He grabbed it out of the water, taking three attempts to actually get his fingers to close properly around the stick.

It took him four attempts to properly cast a drying charm. And he didn't think he quite got his hair dry. But he didn't really worry about that. Instead he just looked around at the bar they were in. It was pretty much completely destroyed. But the league championship trophy was still prominently displayed on the center of the bar. Next to a few empty bottles of champagne, vodka, whiskey, and other things that Harry couldn't identify from afar.

He took a moment to check on Eva, mostly to make sure she was still breathing. He was reasonably happy that she hadn't puked on him. Then he simply surveyed the area around him. Looking for any signs of life.

The hotel staff appeared to be wandering around, attempting to make sense of what was going on. Harry checked a clock to notice it was around ten in the morning. His next attempt was to locate his teammates.

Their keeper was resting across one of the corner booths. She looked to be passed out. He wandered, very slowly given the pounding headache he found himself afflicted with, toward that booth to check on her. She, like Eva, was still breathing, so he assumed that was a good enough sign. He really had no idea where she'd found the quaffle she was clutching in her sleep, and he had the strangest feeling he'd rather not know.

Their other two chasers were just littered around on the floor at random intervals. Neither of them was awake. Harry checked on them as well, but nothing seemed out of place. Of course, he was too hung over to really make any sort of executive decision about their wellbeing.

He found Titus hunched in a chair in the back dining room, his face plastered into the glass window. He shook his friend on the shoulder and Titus looked up at him, looking rather dazed. He swung an empty bottle at Harry. The beater barely had the strength to complete the swing, and Harry barely had the strength to dodge.

Harry wandered back into the room he'd arisen in after the team captain started moving. He looked around and had to do a double take when he finally saw Finbar Quigley.

The elder statesman of their team was simply sitting at the bar, next to the championship trophy, eating breakfast. He appeared to have found a plate of eggs and bacon. Harry just wandered over in that direction and eventually forced himself into the stool next to the beater.

"Morning Potter," Finbar said jovially. Harry just groaned and put his head down on the bar. The beater laughed and clasped him on the back. Harry looked over briefly as the beater took another drink of what Harry could only assume was scotch.

"How," Harry asked after a moment, gazing up at the beater. Finbar just shrugged at him and resumed his meal.

Harry remembered the owner of the Bats coming in looking for his employees. He'd already arranged details for their victory rally and wanted to relay that to the team. He simply gazed around at the destruction before walking over to Titus, who was walking out of the back room looking dazed.

Norman Wilder said something to the captain of the Bats before he looked around some more. That was the same moment that the owner of the hotel walked in and saw that his restaurant and bar were both completely destroyed.

The amount of yelling that ensued woke up every sleeping member of the Ballycastle Bats. Harry attempted to cover his ears. And when that didn't work he reached for his wand, hoping to cast some sort of silencing spell, but his head hurt far too much to think of one.

Norm Wilder had never been a patient man, either. And he certainly didn't appreciate being lectured by some hotel owner. So after simply a few minutes of yelling he stormed out of the building, leaving his team to fend for themselves. Harry hadn't really expected anything other than that to occur.

After that the hotel owner started just yelling at the quidditch players. He started with Harry. Who just glared at him. And after a few moments the man seemed to realize that arguing with Harry Potter likely wasn't going to get him anywhere. While he knew any sort of bad publicity from the quidditch team could hurt his business, bad publicity from Harry Potter speaking publically about him could completely destroy his business.

So he moved on to Quigley. Who simply ignored him and kept eating his breakfast and drinking his scotch. Finbar made absolutely no attempt to even notice the man. Which just infuriated the owner a bit more. So he stalked around his restaurant.

He attempted to yell at Eva, going on about how much the fountain had cost him. But she just flipped him off, keeping her face pressed against the cold marble, her hair covering any expression she could have had.

It was about that point that one of the other chasers politely informed the hotel owner that he should really just shut the fuck up. And then their keeper threw the quaffle she'd somehow acquired at him.

Unfortunately for all the Ballycastle Bats, that hadn't gone over well. Really, it had just made the owner angry. And the yelling really began in earnest. Which did at least have a silver-lining of rousing all of the quidditch players from their slumber as they started to congregate at the bar. Eventually Titus attempted to shut him up.

"Mate, seriously," the beater said, rubbing his temples, trying to rid himself of the headache Harry knew he must have.

"Don't 'mate' me!" the hotel owner yelled. He took out his wand and leveled it on the beater. Titus didn't notice, but Harry had his wand leveled on the hotel owner in less than a second. His hand wobbled less than he'd have thought in his state. But the hotel owner let his wand drop after a moment.

"Sorry," Titus muttered. He didn't sound the least bit sorry, more like he was simply apologizing in an attempt to get the man to shut up. It didn't work.

"Do you have any idea how much money your drunken debauchery is going to cost me?" The hotel owner raved. Harry stopped paying attention and went to slide his wand back into his pocket.

Harry tuned back into the conversation when the hotel owner stated, rather loudly, that he would not let any of the quidditch players leave until he was properly compensated for the physical damages to his building, as well as the cost of not being able to properly open his restaurant for service that morning. Harry remembered the shocked look each of his teammates had. And that was only magnified by the absurd number the man claimed everything was costing him.

Harry watched as Titus, very slowly, composed himself and walked over toward the owner of the hotel. He looked completely dazed and asleep on his feet. The hotel owner just kept ranting to him while the rest of the team milled around and looked confused.

Titus simply reached into his pocket and pulled out a small billfold. He fumbled with it for a moment before taking out a small piece of paper, folded in half. He walked past the hotel owner and found a pen and wrote quickly on the piece of paper. After a few moments, he signed it with a practiced flourish that one acquires from spending far too long signing autographs.

The beater walked back to the hotel owner and just handed him the small piece of paper. The man stopped ranting long enough to look down at it.

"You can't-" the hotel owner started to argue. But Titus just glared at him.

"Stop. Yelling." He said sternly. The man did, but only long enough to look down at the check in his hand.

"This is just going to bounce," the man scoffed. Titus shook his head.

"No," he responded. "It's not." And he just turned and walked toward the exit of the hotel. Harry followed him, purely because he wasn't sure what else to do. If he was honest, he just wanted to go home and go to bed.

Every member of the Ballycastle Bats left the hotel shortly thereafter. Well, except for Finbar Quigley, who just sat at the bar and ordered another drink.

Harry couldn't help but smile a bit at the memory. The check Titus wrote to the hotel owner wouldn't bounce. And would more than cover the repairs to the building, even if it was almost the entirety of his championship winning bonus.

Of course the beater would sign his contract extension a few months later. And at that point wouldn't really have to worry about money for a while. But neither he or Harry really thought about that at the time.

He pulled himself up onto the bed of the Romanian Hotel. He wasn't quite sure where in the country he was. He just knew he was north of Bucharest. He looked at the lock as he yawned. It wasn't quite early enough that he could go back to bed, actually utilizing the bed this time, nor was it quite late enough that he didn't want to do just that.

A soft knock on his door, followed by a soft voice calling his name pulled him out of the hung-over stupor. He reached to the dresser and grabbed his wand, unlocking his door with a flick of his wrist. The knocker seemed to hear the clicking noise, as he heard his door open a moment later.

"Harry? Talia asked me to come find you. She wanted to make—Oh my!" Gabrielle Delacour said. Harry just blinked and looked at her.

"What?" Harry asked, yawning more and stretching his arms over his head.

"You are naked!" the girl squealed. Harry looked down and shrugged. He had a pair of black boxers on and just looked back up at her.

"Not really," he said. Gabrielle simply looked embarrassed; her cheeks flushed a dark red that contrasted quite a bit with her very pale skin.

"You are still indecent," she said, making an exasperated gesture with her hands.

"You're still looking," Harry commented. Which just caused the French girl to blush more and look away from him. He looked at her for a few moments. She was wearing a thin white sundress today. It didn't really show anything and seemed a little youthful, but she was still young. He suspected she'd attempted to be practical when she packed and assumed that, like him, she really didn't bring a whole wardrobe with her.

"I did not mean to!" she said, her voice becoming higher with each syllable.

"It's alright," he laughed. "Just like another photo shoot really."

"In your underwear?" she gasped.

"You'd be surprised," he shrugged. "Now what did Talia want?"

"I do not know," she said. "She just asked that I find you."

"I see," Harry said, tilting his head to the side. He suspected Charlie's fiancé was just keeping the two of them together as a way to distract the girl. It seemed to be a fairly solid idea.

"So I came to locate you. How can you still be sleeping? We did not stay up late," she asked. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he tended to sleep in. Mostly because he tended to go out late. But not having to be in school and seldom having practice until the early afternoon gave him much less incentive to be awake in the early morning hours.

"Viktor came over after I dropped you off. He had a few drinks with me. I didn't get to bed until much later," Harry admitted. He felt like he should probably attempt to dress. But he really wanted to take a shower and she was standing between him and the bathroom.

"Oh," she said, looking a little disappointed. Harry just shrugged and changed the subject.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" he asked. She frowned at him, keeping her eyes firmly on his and not letting them drop any lower.

"I was not hungry," she said. Harry wasn't really hungry either. But he knew he needed to keep eating. Just as he knew she needed to keep eating. He was all too aware of how easy it was to ignore such basic needs during times of stress. And he suspected she wouldn't quite know how to cope. Food was a simple, pleasing distraction.

"Well I'm famished," he lied. "Why don't you order up some room service for us. I'd like to take a shower and then gorge myself on some eggs and bacon." He stepped toward his dresser where elves had unpacked his bag already. He reached in and grabbed some clothing out. He didn't grab anything formal, as he suspected the party would be very informal that day, at least until the evening.

"Okay," she acquiesced. She didn't look like she thought it sounded like that good of an idea. But Harry suspected she simply weighed the option of spending some time alone with him versus being back at the crowded party, and decided the time alone would be better than any time with a crowd.

"Send a note to Talia too," he said. "That way she won't worry." Gabrielle just looked at him, as if she couldn't understand why Talia would worry. But he didn't add more. At least until she spoke up.

"I am not seventeen," she said. She stepped passed him toward the bed and picked up the room service menu. It took him a moment to realize that she couldn't, in theory, do magic. He didn't bother to mention that there was no way the ministry would be really tracking her at that point, and no way they could pinpoint who cast the spell. Instead he just grabbed his wand and sent a small silvery stag to find Talia. It would tell her they were going to breakfast in his room as to not have to face the masses yet today.

Of course, Charlie and Talia had joined he and Viktor for a few drinks the night before, so they would probably understand just why Harry didn't feel like making an appearance yet.

Harry stepped into the bathroom and turned the water on in the shower. He could have just magically cleaned himself. But he always still felt grimy when he did that. And anyway, he enjoyed the relaxing spray of water too much to miss any opportunity to shower.

He tossed his clothing near the sink and checked to make sure that he'd remembered to pack all of his hygienic supplies. Once he was situated he stripped and stepped into the water. He loved the massaging feeling of the water on his skin. He just closed his eyes and let his muscles relax as the water rained down on him.

Harry lest his mind wander as he stood in the water. That probably wasn't the best decision he could have made, but it was certainly the easiest. It wasn't too long before his mind came to rest on the girl in his hotel room.

It wasn't really that he wanted to think about how easy it would have been to slide the straps of that sundress off her shoulders. Or to invite her into the shower with him. He reached back to the shower knob and quickly flipped the water to the coldest setting.

After forcing himself to stand in that for a few minutes he changed it back to his preferred temperature and stood there while he slowly stopped shivering. He really didn't want to think about Gabrielle like that. She was just a lost soul who needed help getting through the days ahead. Taking advantage of her certainly wasn't going to be any form of help.

Something about her, though, really reminded him of her sister. He was perfectly aware that Fleur was more than capable of taking care of herself. He'd witnessed that during the Triwizard Tournament.

Harry had some very fond memories of Fleur from that tournament. Not the least of which was how she filled out a swim suit during the second task. While he wouldn't admit it to anyone, Fleur filled his thoughts far more than she should have that year. And even for a while after. He spent far too many nights imagining she was with him. Really, she'd dominated his fantasies until he became more interested in Cho. But after that point, he'd barely spared a thought for the older French girl.

But he could see some of Fleur in her younger sister. Although the comparison wasn't perfect. Gabrielle looked frailer than her sister. But she had the same type of demeanor. At least when he'd last seen her a few years ago under normal circumstances she had. Harry doubted that had completely vanished, although he suspected it did take a rather large hit given recent events.

He'd always thought she was less demonstrative than her sister, too. He'd noticed that at family events. He'd liked that quality about her, it was always easier to deal with people that weren't all over. Still, they'd almost never talked at the gatherings. He did remember her always looking a little bit bored though. Like she couldn't quite understand why they had to come to the Weasley family parties.

Harry couldn't blame her for that. He often wondered the same thing about himself.

He finished showering, stepping out into the chilly bathroom with a bored sigh. He towel dried his hair quickly before drying off the rest of his body. He wrapped the towel around his waist before moving to the sink and brushing his teeth quickly. After he finished he matted down his hair a bit, before lazily styling it into a slightly messy look.

It had only taken him a few months of photo shoots to realize that he could turn his habitually messy hair into a sort of accepted style, so he went with it. He noticed that his hair was getting a bit too long and he made a mental note to fix that at a later date, if he felt like it.

Once he'd finished with that he pulled on the pair of dark khaki shorts he'd brought into the bathroom. He then looked down at the counter, squinting against his bad vision. He reached around until he found the case containing his contacts. He pushed them off to the side, a bit surprised that the team elves had packed them. He only ever wore them for matches, and even then it was purely because it was easier to wear the uniform goggles without glasses on, and he wasn't allowed to have any form of charm on him during matches.

He located his glasses next to the contacts and put them on. Outside the bathroom door he heard Gabrielle talking to someone. He couldn't quite make out the words, but assumed it was the room service arriving. He grabbed his shirt and stepped out of the bathroom, looking around.

"Do you dislike shirts?" Gabrielle asked, looking away from him as he stepped out of the bathroom. He just laughed and pulled the shirt over his head.

"Just hungry," he said. "Where's the food?"

"Balcony," Gabrielle said, looking around the room. "You did not really have a better place for it."

"It is kind of a small room," he said with a shrug. The door to the balcony was open and he walked out and tossed himself down into one of the chairs. She joined him a moment later, pouring herself some tea before sitting down and staring out over the landscape. He opened his food and started on it, devouring it far more quickly than he should have.

"Did you not order anything?" Harry asked. She looked back at him and gestured to some bread and Nutella. She picked up a knife and started to spread some of it onto the bread.

"I was not very hungry," she admitted.

"Well you should eat," he affirmed. She nodded a bit.

"I know," she said, and she took a very small bite of the bread. Her tone indicated she was simply appeasing him and after two bites of the bread she put it down on the plate and simply held her tea in her hands while she stared out into the distance. Harry just looked at her for a moment, watching her hair blow in the quiet breeze as she sat there. After a moment, he turned back to his food.

"Enjoying the view?" he asked after he finished his meal. She looked a little startled, like she'd forgotten he was there. He knew she probably was thinking about things that were best to not focus on for too long at this point, so he hoped he could distract her a bit.

"I was not really looking," she admitted.

"I know," he said.

"I do not want to go to the party," she said.

"I know," he repeated.

"You are going to make me," she said, looking at him carefully.

"Yes," he said.

"It will help?" she asked.

"More than you realize. But that just may be because I'll let you get sloshed," Harry said. She rolled her eyes a little bit before completely changing the subject.

"What are 'The Original Six?'" she asked. He blinked and looked down at his shirt. He'd picked it up at a sporting event with Titus in New York a few years back.

"It's a group of teams from a Muggle sport," Harry answered quickly.

"Where did you get the shirt?" she asked.

"Titus and I went to New York for the new year a few years back. We caught a game while we were there. Bought the shirt as a souvenir," Harry explained. She tilted her head to the side and looked at him curiously.

"The New York Rangers?" she said, obviously reading the logo off his chest. Harry nodded.

"That's them," he said, pointing to it.

"Who did they play?" she asked, her eyes still on his shirt.

"The lost to the Dallas Stars," Harry said, remembering the game fondly.

"They are not on your shirt," she said. Harry looked down at it then nodded in agreement.

"They aren't," he said.

"Who are the other three?" she asked.

"Five," he corrected, but she shook her head.

"No. Three. Toronto Maple Leafs and Chicago Black Hawks are obvious, it is written right in the logo."

"Oh. Guess?" he asked. She frowned at him.

"No," she said.

"Then you don't get to know," he teased. She sighed.

"They are North American cities?" she asked.

"All three," he affirmed. She put her tea down and leaned across the table, squinting to get a better look at the shirt.

"That one has a wheel in it," she said after a few moments of silence. "Perhaps Detroit? For the automobile industry?"

"Well done," he smiled. "The Detroit Red Wings."

"Why would you call them the red wings?" she asked, looking confused as to how that could have possibly come about. Harry just shrugged.

"I don't know," he said. She frowned, looking annoyed that he couldn't provide an answer, but simply went back to staring at his shirt.

"Uhm. Baltimore?" she asked after a moment. He just shook his head.

"No," he responded. "Closer to New York."

"Boston?" she guessed.

"The Boston Bruins," he nodded. She blinked.

"These teams. They have strange names," she said. He just shrugged.

"I guess. No stranger than the Montrose Magpies if you ask me," he commented.

"That is just a bird," she said. "I do not even know what a bruin is."

"Me either," he admitted. "You only have one to go!" She just sighed and stared at it.

"Houston?" she asked.

"No," he responded. She frowned.

"Cherokee?" she asked, obviously just trying to combine the C and the H that made up the logo."

"Still no," he said with a smile.

"Just tell me," she frowned. He laughed a little bit but acquiesced.

"The Montreal Canadiens," he said.

"What?" she blinked, staring more at the logo.

"Yes," he said. "That's their logo."

"But there is not an M in it," she said.

"Hey I don't make them," he said.

"It is silly," she said. "And why are they the Canadians?"

"Montreal is in Canada?" Harry suggested dumbly. She just glared at him.

"So why do you not play for the Falmouth English?" she scoffed.

"Hey, like I said, I don't make the team names," Harry laughed. She just shrugged and took another sip of her tea.

"What did they play?" she asked.

"A sport called hockey," he responded.

"I am not familiar with it," she admitted.

"I wasn't either. It's actually a lot like quidditch. But there's one fewer player. No seeker. Just three forwards and two defensemen and a goalie. Oh and they play it on ice. But the premise is the same. They try to get this little rubber thing into a net that the goalie is guarding," Harry explained.

"Sounds interesting," Gabrielle responded. But Harry could tell she found it to be boring, but was simply too nice to mention that.

"It was," he said, leaning back in his chair and sipping his tea as well.

"Do you go to America often?" she asked, after a moment of mutual silence.

"Just the once," Harry said. "Titus and I thought New York would be fun to see. And we don't have quidditch at that time."

"Was it fun?" she asked.

"Oh yeah. I'd have liked to have seen a baseball game, though. But, apparently they only play those during the summer. So that will be harder to catch," Harry said.

"I see," she responded. "I always wanted to travel."

"Still plenty of time," Harry said.

"I guess," Gabrielle responded.

"There is," he sighed. She just nodded a little bit and gazed down from the balcony, toward where the party was starting in earnest.

"The party is starting again," she commented.

"What time is it?" he asked, leaning to try to look into the hotel room.

"Around two in the afternoon," she said, looking down at her watch. It was a pretty silver designer-looking accessory.

"We should probably go down and be social," Harry said. "I wouldn't want Talia or Charlie to think I'm taking advantage of you." Gabrielle blushed at his words.

"I do not want to go to the party," she sulked.

"I know," Harry said. "But you want to be a gracious guest."

"Not particularly," she commented.

"Yes you do," he smiled.

"No," she said. "I do not want to talk to any more people today."

"I know. But you're going to be nice because deep down you're still happy for Charlie and Talia," Harry commented.

"I do not know Charlie and Talia," Gabrielle responded.

"Don't make me Imperius you," Harry said, taking out his wand with a faux-meancing look.

"You would not dare," she frowned.

"Done it before," he shrugged, he didn't mention that it was on a belligerent goblin during the war.

"You have not," she scoffed.

"Yes I have," he defended, but he put his wand away. "Now I probably have to change for the party. And then we're going to go down to it."

"But," she sighed.

"No," he interrupted. "You can't sit in a hotel room all day. It'll suck, yes, but we'll get through it." And he didn't give her time to argue. Instead he just went back into the room and changed into a pair of dark jeans that were passably formal and a red and black button up t-shirt. He'd never admit it, but he enjoyed the little things he could get away with as a quidditch star, such as never quite being dressed as nicely as he probably should have been. Some of the perks of fame were growing on him.

Moments later he returned to the balcony to find Gabrielle still just sitting there. He just looked at her and offered his arm.

"Let's go," he said. She stared at him for a moment but then stood, clung to his arm, and they braced the party together.

It wasn't as bad as Gabrielle expected it to be. But that was only because of Harry. He kept most people away from her. He even convinced one particularly annoying party guest that she didn't speak any English.

Still, she knew she shouldn't have sulked as much as she was. It wasn't very ladylike and her parents would have been very disappointed with her behavior. But that was half the problem. Thoughts like that just reminded her of her parents. And thinking about her parents, and her sister, just made her want to sulk and cry more.

But every time she'd start, Harry Potter would squeeze her arm, or pull her around, or do something to distract her. She wound up having far more wine than she probably should have. Harry seemed to have no notion of when she should be cut off. But he kept a close watch on her.

She wasn't sure when they wound up dancing, slowly, to soft music. There were other couples dancing. But she wasn't sure when all of that started. Harry had seemed to just flow into most situations. And he was remarkably adept at getting people to go away, whether it was simply through appeasing them, or irritating them.

Still, it was nice that no one bothered them for very long. It was later by that point, probably sometime between nine and ten in the evening. She was tired. She'd barely slept the night before, and now the alcohol was catching up with her. She should have really eaten more. But she'd ignored the waiters with food that wandered by, and she'd only eaten the piece of bread for lunch.

She just let her head fall forward, pressing into his chest as he moved with her on the small floor. She knew he wasn't really paying attention to her. His mind was elsewhere. They hadn't spoken for probably close to an hour. But it didn't really matter. She didn't want to talk, and she thought that perhaps he knew that.

Gabrielle couldn't help but wonder just where and when he'd learned to dance. He was surprisingly good at it. Better than her boyfriend. And Mathieu claimed he'd taken lessons. Yet Harry wasn't even really paying attention to the dance, and his motions were more fluid and relaxed. She wondered if maybe that came from flying. But she didn't know how that could be the case.

Mostly, as they spun in a small circle, she just thought about what she was going to do. She hadn't seen any of the paperwork yet. But she suspected the estate would pay for the Delacour home. And she'd be left with that. She had no idea how Bill and Fleur's property would be divvied up. But she didn't want to live in either of those areas. And she wasn't of age yet, so she wasn't sure what choices she would have.

They couldn't make her go to a home. She didn't think so at least. She was old enough to take care of herself. But she had no idea what assets she would have had. Sure, her father had worked very hard as an attorney. And the family had never really been poor, at least not during her lifetime.

Her mother told she and Fleur stories about how they'd had nothing when they were first married. And how they'd worked so hard for their Bordeaux home. But that didn't mean Gabrielle had any idea what she inherited. If anything. She hadn't seen any sort of paperwork yet. But she suspected it was either waiting for her at home, or in route to her now.

It boiled down to the fact that she really had no idea what she was going to do. And that frightened her a lot.

She'd have to find a place to go. Someplace to stay until the term started. Madame Maxime may let her stay at the school. But she was pretty certain that Beauxbatons was empty during the off term. And that there would probably be some sort of legal concern with that.

Certainly Mathieu would have loved to have her spend the summer. But she suspected his parents wouldn't have found that to be as good of an idea as she thought. And it felt wrong to her, too, because she knew that her parents would have never, ever, agreed to that. And doing something she knew would have been a point of contention did not seem to be a good way to remember them.

And it bothered her that Mathieu hadn't sent any type of note. Of course, if he sent a letter by owl it would probably be waiting for her at home, and not coming to the hotel. But that hadn't stopped her other friends. Josephine and Sophia had sent their condolences to the hotel.

Josephine or Sophia would have probably appreciated the company. They were her best friends after all. Certainly their parents would likely be more understanding. That was probably her best option. Sophia always talked of how nice it was to spend the summers in Paris. She loved the city. Gabrielle hadn't spent that much time in the city. But it would have probably been nice.

Josephine didn't like Bayeux all that much. She felt there were too many Americans there. Especially in June. Really she disliked tourists in general. And she claimed the weather was much better in southern France. Gabrielle doubted that was true. But still, she didn't think it would be that bad of an option.

She'd have to make a note to ask them as soon as she could. They'd just be settling in at home now. She'd left a day early, having finished her exams, to make the wedding. She wished she was in their shoes, talking happily with her parents about the events of the year. But instead she was in Romania, depressed and dancing with Harry Potter.

She actually giggled a little bit at that thought. It surprised Harry as he stopped moving and looked down at her.

"Are you okay?" he asked carefully.

"Yes," she said. "I just had a funny thought." Her words didn't seem to sound as they should have. Almost more strung together.

"Care to share?" he asked.

"It is not that important. I just realized how jealous my friends would be of me right now," Gabrielle said. Harry smiled at her.

"Well, when you tell them about it, make sure you make me more interesting than I am," Harry commented.

"Okay," Gabrielle said. "I will not tell them about how you can only talk about sports."

"Hey," Harry frowned. "I talk about drinking too."

"But only when it is associated with sports," Gabrielle smiled as the music cut off. Harry just rolled his eyes at her as Charlie Weasley spoke from a podium.

"As most of you already know," Charlie started. "I will not be spending tonight in the arms of a young, beautiful wife." There was some laughing and he paused for a few moments.

"Instead of the joyous day this should have been, we were forced to reflect upon great losses that hit very close to my family. I've spent most of today wishing that my parents had gotten to spend more time with the wonderful woman I am going to make my wife. And wishing that I'd returned to England more. And spent much more time with my family in this last decade. I can only imagine how much her antics would have amused George. And I know Ron and Ginny would have loved her.

"I just ask that, now, for a brief reprieve from our party, that we take a moment to remember everyone who was lost attempting to get here. On a journey that shouldn't have been difficult at all." And everyone was silent for a few moments. Harry looked down, and then shifted a bit away from the stage. Gabrielle thought it seemed a little bit like he wanted to flee. After a few moments Charlie spoke again.

"Fortunately for us we do have someone here who knew most of the victims better than anyone else can say. Harry, would you like to say a few words?" Charlie Weasley asked. Harry stiffened next to her but nodded and moved up to the stage.

"Well," he sighed. "Charlie exaggerated a bit. I did not know all of the victims that well. Just a couple of them. For example, I'd only ever met Apolline and Louis Delacour once. And on that day they were far more focused on their daughter's happiness than anything else. I did, however, get to spend a few minutes with them, talking about their daughters. And I know that they loved the two of them more than their own life.

"I know it would devastate them to know what happened to their family. To some extent I think they'd have rather been involved in it than to have to live through it. They were so empathetic with their daughter on her wedding day. I remember being in awe at their smiles that were just for her.

"I first met their eldest daughter at Hogwarts, as many of you know. We competed against each other in the reincarnated Triwizard Tournament. She was a fierce competitor and wanted to win more than anything else. I only saw her with Bill on a couple of occasions. I remember watching her nurse him back to health after a werewolf attack during the First Battle of Hogwarts and wishing that I could find someone who loved me that much.

"And I owe both of them far more than I could ever repay. Their seaside cottage, as many of you know, is where my friends and I planned the final stages of the war against Lord Voldemort. They provided the solace we needed for everything to fall into place and I wish there was something I could do to pay them back for that." Harry paused to take a sip of his drink, shaking his head and looking a little bit lost in thought. No one in the open area spoke. Many of them were simply staring at the English war hero, remembering the terror that country had faced not so long ago.

Gabrielle just looked at him, though, and wondered why he lied about details. She knew he'd met her parents a bit more than that. Albeit briefly. She just tilted her head to the side and wondered what he would say next.

"We lost Ginny Weasley too. She's perhaps the hardest for me to talk about," Harry continued. "I'm not ashamed to admit that thoughts of her are what allowed me to fight on during the war. I know I will miss her. She was my first love, and I can't help but think of what might have been." Gabrielle simply stared up at him some more. She felt more confused. She remembered his comment about truths from just yesterday. And she didn't know Harry Potter that well, but something about his words there seemed hollow and rehearsed.

"And George Weasley. You've all heard of him. Everyone's heard of him. The most tragic bit about this loss is that the world will indeed be a more depressing place with him not in it. I can only lament the amount of jokes that were left unfinished. George would want me to say something funny, to find some humor in all of this. Unfortunately, I've never been as funny as he or his brother.

"Molly and Arthur were two of the finest people I'd ever met. They cared for me as if I was a son. I spent many summers in their home, feeling like I was a Weasley myself. They were honorable, hard-working and they loved nothing more than family. I am honored to have met them." Harry paused again to take another drink. People were just staring up at him now, hanging on his words. She knew what he had to talk about next. The trio never spoke much about the war. They never said what happened after Harry went into the forest. And they never explained why the war had ended where it did, when it did, and how it did. Everyone in the audience hoped that perhaps tonight that would all change.

"I don't know what I can say about Ron and Hermione that I haven't already said. They were my most loyal friends. They fought with me every step of the way. They never lost hope in me. Not for a minute.

"I've spent most of the last day thinking about how I would get on without them. Wondering just what all of this would entail in my life. In everyone's life. Certainly Britain is worse for not having Hermione Granger. She was already making great strides in the medical field. And I know Ron would have been just as successful as George given the chance.

"I'll admit, my thoughts have been selfish. I only wondered about what it would mean for me. How I would get on. And how I would survive. I suspect, it's human nature. I've lost people before. It happened seemingly daily during the war. But never has it hurt as much as when I finally realized they were truly gone.

"But I'm reminded of something Hermione said to me one night. We were all discouraged, despairing. There seemed to be no hope in our plight. It was just before Christmas and I remember coming in from the snow. She was trying to cook something and I said many things I probably shouldn't have.

"I ended my rant questioning what we were doing. Was it actually worth it? Did we even know what was going on. What were we doing out there in the cold?

"And Hermione just looked at me. She looked so cross with me and for a moment I had no idea what she was going to do. She looked like she wanted to curse me. But she just grit her teeth together and said one phrase to me. She said 'ad vitam paramus," Harry paused once more to take a drink and let the Latin sink in. Gabrielle didn't know the language. But the words weren't that dissimilar from French.

"I didn't know Latin. I still don't know Latin. I didn't even know she knew Latin. But knowing Hermione, she probably taught it to herself on a whim. Purely because she recognized that some of the incantation she was using were in that language. It's something she would have done.

"But those words stuck with me. They stuck with me through the cold days ahead. And they stick with me today. When I sat in my room thinking about just what I would do. Thinking about what I could do. I could only come up with one answer. And it's as suitable now, I suspect, as it was then. Ad vitam paramus," he said. And he held his drink glass up to the crowd before polishing it off in salute to his fallen friends. Gabrielle wasn't sure when the tears started coming. But a quick look around revealed she wasn't the only one crying.

Harry just stepped off the stage and walked through the crowd. They seemed to part for him. In a moment he was near her again.

"Harry," Gabrielle said quietly, her voice trailing off into the now-quiet din of the party.

"I need to go to bed," he said. He looked different, but she couldn't place it. He still appeared composed, but there was something more there, something that he was fighting with. She just nodded and followed him.

"Me too," she said as they walked away from the party. She found herself with so many questions that she wanted to ask him. But they all seemed so wrong. He'd answered everything she'd asked of him so far. But she didn't know him. And this was far more personal than anything she'd asked before.

Moments later they walked past her room. She paused outside the door and stared as he kept walking down the hall. A moment after he seemed to notice something and he turned and looked at her.

"What are you going to do?" he asked. She just blinked a little bit. She hadn't expected that question.

"I do not know," she said. "I will probably see if I can stay with Mathieu or Sophie for the summer and then return to Beauxbatons in the fall. After that I will be seventeen and I will find my own place."

"Who are they?" he asked.

"Mathieu is my boyfriend, Sophie is my best friend," Gabrielle admitted. Harry looked at her.

"Would your parents let you spend summer with your boyfriend?" he asked.

"No," she admitted, blushing a little bit like a girl being caught doing something naughty.

"Do you have any relatives?"

"Maybe a distant aunt or uncle," she said, frowning. "We had a very small family."

"I see," he said. And he turned to walk away. But after a moment he turned around again and he just stared at her.

"What?" she asked, confused at his expression.

"Come to Falmouth with me," he said. And she did a double take.

"What?" she asked again.

"Come to Falmouth with me. It will be like a summer vacation. I'm sure you want to be out of France for a while. And I've got plenty of room and a fairly busy quidditch schedule. It wouldn't be far off of living alone," he said.

"I don't know," she admitted. Although it sounded appealing. She didn't want to be in France. She wanted to be as far away from anything that reminded her of her parents. And she could always leave if she wanted to. And how bad could England be? Fleur had ended up liking it.

"Just a thought," Harry said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I think I'd like to try it," Gabrielle said. "At least for a little bit. I do not think I want to be in the house while the lawyers try to figure everything out."

"I can help with that," Harry said. "I've already got one attorney working on it. What's another few?"

"I…appreciate that," Gabrielle said. "I think I may like Falmouth."

"Well, that would make one of us," Harry said with a shrug of his shoulders. "But I'll see you tomorrow morning." And he turned to continue down the hall. She watched him, wondering, for a moment, about his comments on the city. But mostly she just wondered about what Sophia would say when she mentioned that her first real roommate was Harry James Potter.

Author's Note: As always thanks for reading and reviewing. I do appreciate it. I was surprisingly happier with this chapter than I thought I'd be going in. So that was a pleasant surprise.

As always, the best way to contact me is typically through PM on this website. I try to respond to most of those.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Zaion Indulias for the beta work on this chapter. Also apologies in advanced if this one is a bit rougher around the edges. I wanted to get it posted tonight when I should have probably slept on it. I'll give it another once over in the morning.

Chapter 4

When Gabrielle Delacour woke up the next morning her only coherent thought was that she really wished she could do magic outside of school. Last night certainly had not been the first time she had over indulged in alcohol, nor was this morning the first time she had woken up with a hangover.

She, Josephine and Sophia were actually fairly fond of sneaking into town and picking up a bottle of wine or two on occasion. Fleur even used to send her one every now and then, especially after exam weeks. Her sister had claimed that it helped get rid of the stress from all of the exams. And Gabrielle was not one to argue with her.

She could not help but smile a bit as she remembered her elder sister's wisdom. Even if thinking of Fleur made her chest ache and her stomach sink in her chest. Of course, it had been Fleur who had told her and her friends just where to go to try to con a bottle. And that was advice they had utilized plenty.

It was; however, the first time she had awoken up with a hangover and was not able to rectify the problem by wandering down to the infirmary and complaining of a migraine. Moments later she'd always feel right as rain. But she suspected that relief would not come today. Perhaps she could ask someone at the party. After all, everyone had consumed a rather large amount of alcohol.

She spent a moment to wonder if she had made herself out to be too much of a fool. She knew that when she got drunk, she got incredibly clingy. She hoped she hadn't really done anything to embarrass herself. But, she had pretty coherent memories of the night before.

But she also remembered that after about her fifth glass of wine all she did was cling to him. They passed it off as dancing, but she was just holding onto him, letting him lead her around. And that alone embarrassed her. If Madame Fay had watched her last evening she'd never hear the end of it.

The instructor's voice rang through her aching head. It was always the same with Madame Fay. She would start by barking her name, a staccato snap that made it seem almost if it was a single syllable. And then she would get a lecture about how the instructor had not spent a decade teaching her how to properly dance to have her just let some inexperienced boy take control. That was certainly not what her parents had invested their money in.

But Gabrielle was not the one who had always wanted to be the dancer. No. That was Fleur. Her sister had spent years dancing ballet. It was her passion. Years and years before Fleur had constantly regaled her sister with stories of how she would one day be the prima of an illustrious troupe.

As a little girl Gabrielle loved those stories. She loved those stories so much that she insisted she be allowed to take lessons too. And so she started dancing at six. At first she thought it was just for fun. She liked to watch her sister and copy her moves. And it was those simple actions that got her into trouble.

It turned out she was a very, very good dancer. By the time she was eight she was better than her sister. She had the perfect lines, everyone said. And all that did was irritate Fleur. But Madame Fay focused more and more on her.

By ten she hated dancing. But her parents, her sister, everyone, thought she adored it. And Gabrielle did not know how to tell them she had no wish to continue doing it. She thought that turning eleven, and attending Beauxbatons would be her freedom. She should have known better.

Every Wednesday and Saturday Madame Fay showed up and Gabrielle spent two hours in a classroom turned studio. And the dance instructor had expected her to practice at least three other days on her own time.

At first she had not adhered to that schedule. But once Madame Fay finished shrieking at her, she decided it was in her best interest to make certain that did not happen again.

It did happen again, though. But it was not because she became indolent in her practicing. She was too afraid of Madame Fay to have that happen. No, it happened again for very different reasons.

With puberty came appetite. Gabrielle Delacour frowned to herself at how that came out. But she meant it in the most literal sense. Once she hit her teenage years, almost like clockwork, she found herself hungry almost constantly, especially after practicing.

And so she would eat. It seemed so natural, so normal. She did not even notice if she was eating any more than normal. As before she simply ate enough to quell the hunger. She did not bother to spare it another thought.

Madame Fay spared it quite a few thoughts, though. And they were not good thoughts.

Part way through her third year at Beauxbatons the dance instructor was busy yelling at her during her Wednesday night class. Gabrielle knew she should have been more focused on her dancing. But she was too worried about her Transfiguration text the next morning.

"Enough," Madame Fay had barked in a sharp French. Gabrielle was mid dance and frowned. It was never a good sign with the instructor stopped her in the middle of anything.

"From the top?" Gabrielle responded in her native tongue, hoping that she simply messed up a single move.

"No. You are finished tonight. You are not trying," the instructor spat. Gabrielle frowned and looked away but did not attempt to defend herself.

"Sorry," she mumbled. Madame Fay ignored her as she gathered up her things. She wanted to transfigure her leotard into a Beauxbatons uniform. But the instructor would not let her use magic during their sessions. Madame Fay was convinced magic made dancers weak if they used it too much as a crutch. Her students, who were all witches, had to physically do everything.

That even included, in some cases, recovering from injury. A year ago Gabrielle had severely twisted her ankle while running around with her friends. Madame Fay had made her dance on it for two weeks before healing it magically.

And even then, the younger girl suspected that the instructor only healed it because she'd been crying on the floor of the studio after attempting to dance on it. Gabrielle had learned her lesson, though, and she was much more careful with everything else she did.

"Apologizing is useless. Work harder," the instructor scolded, walking over toward her student.

"I am just busy with school. Mid-term exams are coming up," Gabrielle remembered stammering.

"No. When you enter this room you are only busy with ballet," the instructor spat. Gabrielle did not think that her other professors would buy that. She had a hard enough time trying not to feel abnormal with the fact that she was the only student at Beauxbatons who spent hours on hours with a dance instructor. Most of her friends thought she was a little strange. And the students who did not know her were jealous of what they perceived as special treatment.

They did not realize how exhausted she was. And how she had very little free time to actually spend with friends. Her life through her first years at school was simply studying and dancing. And she did not enjoy it.

"I need to study," Gabrielle frowned. She knew she should not have said it.

"We have built in time for that," Madame Fay said, just sounding more annoyed. Gabrielle just frowned more. She was too tired to form a coherent thought and she really just wanted to go and find something to eat.

"I know," Gabrielle frowned. "I am sorry. I will be better prepared next time." She knew that was essentially all she could say.

"You will be," Madame Fay agreed in a way that left little doubt to the matter. She then leveled her gaze on her student, who was attempting to leave the classroom. "However, Gabrielle, we must now discuss your diet."

"What?" she asked. She remembered not really understanding what Madame Fay was talking about. She'd never fathomed even having some sort of a diet before then.

"Your diet," Madame Fay reiterated. "What is it?"

"I do not know?" Gabrielle admitted.

"What do you eat?" the instructor asked, looking a little bit annoyed at this point. Gabrielle had not expected a lecture once the instructor had scoffed at her and told her she was done for the evening. Her mind was still elsewhere, thinking about her exams for the next morning.

"Whatever is out," Gabrielle said. Meals at Beauxbatons often consisted of large spreads of various types of food set up at one table. Students would then pick out what they wanted to eat and proceed to smaller tables around the dining hall. Anything that was particularly popular was replenished during the course of the meal.

She remembered not having a clue where the conversation was going. Three years later she wondered how she'd been so naïve about it. But it had never been something to worry about. She was only really vaguely aware that it was something anyone worried about.

"How often?" Madame Fay asked.

"Breakfast, lunch and dinner," she responded without really thinking about it. There was rarely a day where she skipped any sort of meal, she was always hungry of late.

"You will skip one of those from now on," the instructor commented.

"What?" Why?" Gabrielle asked. She did not like the way that sounded.

"Because you are putting on weight too rapidly," Madame Fay said. Her voice was emotionless. Gabrielle looked into one of the mirrors that surrounded the room. She looked exactly the same, to herself at least. But her hands flew to her stomach out of instinct.

"I.." she stammered. She was not really sure what to say.

"And you will prepare a list of foods you enjoy versus foods you dislike for next time. I will prepare a set diet for you to adhere to for now. I will relay that to the school elves and they will ensure that is what you receive for sustenance," Madame Fay explained.

"Okay," Gabrielle mumbled to herself. Madame Fay nodded curtly.

"I will have a package sent to you with instructions in the morning," the instructor said. And that was all Gabrielle really remembered from that conversation, and that evening. She wasn't sure if she went to dinner. But she suspected she did. She wouldn't start skipping meals until later.

She pulled herself up out of bed and walked toward her bag. She started to dig through it, ignoring her rumbling stomach as she did. Eventually, she found what she was looking for. A small wooden container held thirty small vials of a silver potion. She had about half remaining. Gabrielle uncorked one and drank it quickly.

She looked in the mirror then and frowned. Her hair was a mess and she looked pretty terrible. But she knew there hadn't really been anything she could do to avoid that. She moved to the shower and started to clean up for her day.

While she did not remember the rest of the day after Madame Fay chastised her. She certainly remembered the next morning.

Almost as soon as she took her seat between her friends, Madame Fay's owl appeared, as did a plate of food. She was not sure which more disappointing. The note from the instructor explaining her new dieting regimen and the wooden box of potions, or the fact that the plate that appeared in front of her contained a single piece of toasted wheat bread with a dollop of peanut butter on it, five grapes, and a small container of unflavored yogurt.

Her friends had stared at her through the whole meal. But she did not comment. Instead she savored every bite, before drinking one of the potions as instructed. It did not make her feel any better.

But she grew accustomed to it with time. She cheated, now and again, but more often than not Madame Fay found out, somehow. And she would be scolded. It only made it worse that her parents had sided with her instructor.

She distinctly remembered her mother telling her that if she wanted to be serious with the sport, that was one of the sacrifices she would have to make. At that time, Gabrielle had not known how to tell her mother that she did not want to be serious with the sport.

And now she would likely never get the chance.

She stepped out of the shower because she could sense if she stayed in the water she would keep thinking about her parents, and she would start crying. And she did not want to cry. Not today. Today would be a good day to not cry. She grit her teeth and focused on that as she dried herself off.

Her hair took the longest. Once it was done she simply pulled it back into a pony tail to have it out of the way. After that she focused on beautifying herself. Something she had ignored the previous day. Today she did it to try to get herself back into a routine. A routine had to be important. Or so she tried to convince herself.

She took out the most informal clothing she'd brought from the suitcase, a pair of jeans and a pink Ballycastle Bats shirt, before packing all of her things together. Moments later there was a loud, impatient banging on her door.

"I am coming!" she barked and walked over toward it, pulling it open without looking through the peep sight.

"Hello," Harry Potter smiled at her. She blinked a little bit.

"Hi," she said. It took her a moment to remember she'd agreed to going to Falmouth with him.

"I want to leave," he said. "I figured letting you sleep until noon was good enough."

"It is noon?" she frowned.

"Twelve oh-three when I left my room. So a bit after that," Harry admitted.

"I did not realize I had slept so late," she frowned. But she tossed her door open and stepped away from it. He stepped into her room and she moved to finish packing.

"I didn't know how much experience you had with drinking entire bottles of wine by yourself. So I figured I'd let you sleep it off," Harry smiled all too jovially.

"How are you not hung over?" she frowned. She felt like she was doing everything slowly. Which did not help matters.

"Experience, mostly," Harry admitted. "And a lot of water, tea, and bacon." Her stomach rumbled at the mention of bacon. But she forced the thoughts out of her head.

"I see," she said. "I am sorry I have not finished packing yet."

"No hurry," Harry responded. He leaned against the wall and watched her. After a moment he spoke again. "Do a lot of young French girls run around in Ballycasstle Bats t-shirts?"

"Not as many as young English girls, I would suspect," Gabrielle responded carefully. She blushed that he noticed the t-shirt. But she was looking away from him and did not think he noticed.

"Why the Bats?" he asked.

"Why do you think?" she scoffed.

"I knew Titus shouldn't have agreed to that that shirtless Witch Weekly spread. I told him you were all an impressionable bunch that would just wind up obsessed with him and his abs," Harry commented. She could not quite tell if he was joking.

"It is not Titus they are obsessed with," she commented dryly.

"He's pretty," Harry commented.

"I guess," Gabrielle said with a shrug of her shoulders. If she was honest she did not really pay attention to that sort of thing. She was not particularly attracted to anyone. It was something Mathieu did not quite understand.

"Ouch, don't tell him that 'I guess' is all he rates on the attractive scale," Harry laughed.

"I do not see why I would," she frowned.

"Good. Because he'd just argue with you that you were wrong and cite his recent conquests. And that's really not a conversation you want to get in on," Harry said. She finished packing her suitcase, zipped it up and stared at him.

"I will keep that in mind," she said. And then he just summoned her suitcase to him. She thought it was a bit presumptuous as he shrank it until it was no larger than a canned beverage and tossed it back to her. She caught it and tucked it into her purse without comment.

"Good. I hope you all decide to hate the Falcons," Harry said.

"We all?" Gabrielle commented, tilting her head to the side.

"Females," Harry responded. He held her door open to her and she took it as her cue to leave the room. He followed her out.

"Why do you not want people to like the Falcons?" Gabrielle asked. She could not think of a valid reason for that. He just smiled a little bit and shook his head.

"I dislike the owner and general manager," Harry commented.

"Who are they?" she asked.

"Derrick Lunfrey," Harry said,

"And what does he do?" Gabrielle asked.

"Talks too much about money and marketing," Harry commented.

"I do not understand why that bothers you," Gabrielle said. "You make a great deal of money and you do quite a bit of marketing."

"Yes, but I don't talk about it," Harry said.

"I do not see why that matters," she admitted. He just smiled at her and shook his head a bit. Before he changed the subject.

"Would you like to grab some lunch before we leave?" he asked. She looked over toward the restaurant of the hotel and bit her bottom lip.

"No," she said. "I will wait till we get to Falmouth."

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes. My head hurts too much to eat," she admitted. And they walked out of the building and toward a queue of cars. Harry led her to one and they both climbed into the passenger seat before the ministry assigned driver took them to the portkey terminal. Gabrielle did not want to think about portkeys, so she tried to initiate Harry back into the conversation about his new team.

"Now why does Mr. Lunfrey bother you?" she asked. He just shook his head.

"His demeanor, mostly," Harry admitted.

"Explain it to me?" she asked. She knew that he really had no reason to. And if she was honest she did not expect him to. She was also a little surprised he was talking so freely with her. But to this point he had not failed to answer any question she had asked. He pressed his lips together and seemed to think of how best to formulate his reply.

"It's like all he talks about," Harry started. "Even when we were first traded to Falmouth, the first thing he said to Titus and I was how we could appear on all sorts of products for his family's company. And he talks about jersey sales, merchandise sales, and you pretty much name it."

"Is that not part of your job?" Gabrielle asked.

"No," Harry said. "It isn't."

"But quidditch players are on all sorts of things," she said. She'd always assumed the appearances and things of that nature were just something they did.

"Yes," Harry said. "We are."

"So I am confused," she admitted.

"I am contracted to play quidditch. I am paid a specific amount to show up to practices and matches and perform to the best of my ability. I have incentive clauses based on end of the season awards, total snitch catches, and championships. That is all that Derrick Lunfrey, or more specifically, the Lunfrey Ownership Group, pays me for."

"So what about all of the other things?" Gabrielle asked.

"What other things?" Harry smirked at her. She blinked.

"Well you do wireless commercials for Cleansweep do you not?" she asked.

"I'm Harry Potter and like the rest of the Ballycastle Bats I only fly Cleansweep!" Harry said jovially.

"Yes, that," she nodded at him.

"Cleansweep paid me for those," he explained. "And I'm sure Comet will pay me for them now given that I no longer fly a Cleansweep broom in league competition."

"You do not?" she asked.

"No," he said. "Every team has a deal with a specific manufacturer. They then make the broom based on a certain criteria. It boils down to all of the brooms being pretty much identical, but having a team name on them. It's purely a kickback for all the advertising the broom companies pay the teams for."

"I see. Do they pay all the players for that?" she asked.

"All the ones they want on the commercials. Titus and I were the only two players in Ballycastle that did them," Harry said.

"I am still confused," Gabrielle said. "Is it not a good thing to do that?"

"Sure, if you want more money," Harry said.

"Do you not want more money?" she asked. He just shrugged.

"I'm certainly not opposed. But it gets complicated. You can't, for example advertise for competitors. So it becomes a give and take of which company will offer you the most money and running with it," Harry said.

"I do not see what this has to do with Mr. Lunfrey," Gabrielle admitted.

"He spent the entire first night talking about how we would now have the honor of being able to represent the products of the Lunfrey Food Company while playing for the Falmouth Falcons," Harry explained.

"I do not see why that's a bad thing," Gabrielle shrugged.

"It shows ignorance," Harry said. "Titus already does marketing things for one of their direct competitors. He's not going to back out of that deal simply because his uniform color changed."

"Oh," she said. It was starting to make a little more sense as he kept talking about it. She had not ever thought about exactly what it would take to be a professional athlete. And she was strangely fascinated by the non-sporting aspects of it.

"He also implied it was something that would be expected of us, rather than something we would be compensated for," Harry commented. He knew that would never be the case. That Lunfrey had simply come across that way because he was trying to sell something to his new players. So he had to make it sound like as good of an idea as possible.

"And you would only do it if you were compensated?" she asked.

"Kind of," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"I wouldn't do it anyway, most likely. He spent fifteen minutes telling me about how I was woefully under promoted," Harry laughed as he spoke.

"Why would you not do it?" she asked.

"I'm uninterested in it. I do a couple of promos with Titus, and a few by myself. But I don't want to advertise on all sorts of things. I don't want to have my face plastered on something or another. And I really just get bored during all the photo shoots and what not. So I've kept my schedule pretty empty. Titus likes doing the things more than I do," he explained.

"Why?" she asked

"He's an attention whore," Harry responded dryly.

"Oh, I see," Gabrielle said. She was staring out the window as they spoke. "Who handles that for you?"

"My agent does all my marketing as well," Harry said. "She knows I don't really want to do any of that. But if someone makes an offer that she thinks I shouldn't refuse, then she lets me know."

"Do you accept those offers?" Gabrielle asked.

"Sometimes," Harry said.

"Is that what an agent does?" She asked.

"I guess," Harry shrugged. "I've never really spoken to Daphne about her day-to-day. It never really seemed that important. I let her negotiate my contracts and marketing and she gives me weekly updates on my assets and what not."

"How?" She asked. Harry had the strangest feeling that she wasn't really paying attention or understanding just what he was going on about.

"We meet on Wednesdays for lunch, typically," he responded. "Anything business related is discussed at those meetings."

"You discuss your future and marketing deals over lunch?" Gabrielle asked, sounding a little surprised about that.

"Sometimes dinner, but usually lunch, yes," Harry responded.

"Does that not seem a bit informal?" Gabrielle asked.

"I like informal," Harry said. "It's a bit easier than going to their office and having all of the other agents try to tell me all they could do for me."

"They do that?" Gabrielle asked.

"Yes," Harry laughed. "I actually had to go talk to Mr. Brave about it one time. He's Daphne's boss. Apparently Lunfrey isn't the only one who thinks that Harry Potter doesn't do enough. I had to convince him that I wouldn't require the services of his agency if Miss Greengrass was not my representation. And that I did all of the marketing I wished. And I was not interested in what his other employees thought he could offer me."

"Did that go over well?" Gabrielle asked. She was smirking a little bit, though, and Harry suspected she appreciated the story.

"Not really. But we hashed out our differences. And now I only associate myself with Daphne and it works out," Harry explained. "She's told me she's thinking about switching agencies or perhaps starting her own. She was all worried that it would bother me, or that I'd fire her. I had to assure her that wouldn't be the case. As long as I get paid to play quidditch, I'm happy with her."

"How did you meet her?" Gabrielle asked.

"We met when I was searching for representation after the war. She was a junior employee tasked with making sure that I saw the erm…benefits… of their agency. It worked. But I ended up hating my agent. So I fired him and hired her. Titus did the same thing not too long after. I think she has a whole four clients."

"That is not very many," Gabrielle said.

"No. But she makes a great deal of money off of two of them," Harry laughed. Gabrielle just looked at him.

"What do you pay her?" Gabrielle asked.

"She gets five percent of my base contract. She does not benefit from if I hit any escalator clauses or what not. But she also gets fifteen percent of whatever endorsements I sign. I believe she makes more off of Titus than me," Harry said.

"That does not sound like a lot," Gabrielle responded.

"Trust me," Harry laughed. "She does more than alright for herself."

"If you insist," Gabrielle said. And they were silent for the rest of the drive. At least until Harry groaned as the car pulled into the Portkey terminal.

"You have to be kidding me," he sighed.

"What?" Gabrielle asked, staring out the window.

"Reporters," he sighed. "And no one is supposed to know I'm here."

"Maybe someone at the party told them?" Gabrielle offered. Harry shrugged.

"Maybe. Stay close to me or this will get hectic," Harry said. And he stepped out of the car. Moments later she was at his side as he pulled her through a throng of people. Some cameras snapped, but mostly she just heard people yelling at him, asking questions, she assumed. But they were just a loud mass of noise.

Eventually, they were into the terminal. But the ministry official frowned at them as he said he wasn't quite ready to go with the Portkey yet. Harry groaned as the reporters caught up with them and resumed their onslaught. After a moment Harry held up his hands and spoke.

"Three for one," he said.

"What?" One of the reporters asked.

"I'll answer three questions, if you answer one," he said to the throng of people. A few of the reporters up front nodded. "You, you, and you," Harry said, pointing at three journalists. He knew one of them, an older sports reporter who he'd done a few interviews with. He actually liked the man. He was a straight shooter and typically only asked quidditch related questions.

"Who's that?" the first one he'd pointed at asked. She nodded toward Gabrielle and Harry just smirked to himself. It wasn't the first time he'd made a deal like that with the reporters, and he was amazed how easily they could be distracted.

"A close family friend," Harry responded, giving a blunt answer.

"Are you dating?" the second one asked. Harry almost laughed aloud, but he thought it would be insensitive to Gabrielle to do so.

"No," he said bluntly, before turning to the third reporter.

"It's been a tumultuous couple of weeks for you, Mr. Potter," the reporter he knew started. Harry smiled inwardly to himself. He knew Robert Graves wouldn't waste a question. "First with being traded from your first Quidditch home in Ballycastle to Falmouth, and now the portkey accident. There's been some speculation back in England that you may quit the sport and attempt to help with the investigation into the disappearing Portkey. Any truth to those rumors?"

"No," Harry did laugh this time. And part of him was amused that he could have gotten through his three allotted questions with six words. But he liked Bob Graves, so he continued. "I'm not even sure where something like that could come up. I certainly doubt I could actually provide any insight into an investigation of a disappearing portkey. I suspect it's something best left to the professionals."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Graves responded. "Your question?" The reporters with him started squabbling a bit, amazed that their three questions had gone by so quickly. Gabrielle blinked a bit too. She was not quite following all that was going on. If she was honest, she was still surprised she had been mentioned at all in the conversation. And Harry seemed different when he spoke to these people. But Harry just smirked and turned his gaze quickly to the Romanian ministry official who was supposed to be helping them with the portkey, and back to the third reporter.

"Ask two more Bob," Harry said. "It's not your fault these two wasted theirs."

"No one has really had the time to ask you about how it feels to be traded from arguably the greatest qudditch team in the Britsh and Irish leagues. Any comments on that?" Graves asked.

"It's odd," Harry admitted. "I liked Ballycastle. I loved the fans. I'll miss the city. But I look forward to trying to bring quidditch success to Falmouth. And I hope that we can enjoy the same type of success we have had in Ballycastle."

"Any worries about recent events affecting your play," the reporter asked his third question.

"I can't really think about that, Bob," Harry said. "I'm sure they'll be on my mind. But it's my job to catch snitches. And when I'm on the pitch that what my focus is. It shouldn't affect my play."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Potter," Robert Graves said.

"So who told you I was here?" Harry asked, looking around. Graves opened his mouth, but the second reporter, who's question Harry had brushed off, spoke over him.

"We shouldn't divulge our sources," she said shrilly and turned to leave.

"Derrick Lunfrey," Graves said after a moment.

"Figures," Harry nodded. "Let me guess, just had to mention something about how much the Falcons supported me and that I was in Romania for a funeral?"

"Something like that," Graves said. "Thanks though. I have a story to get to my editor."

"No problem," Harry said. "Give Sarah my best." The man nodded and moved off to a secluded corner where Harry suspected he'd compose whatever story he'd been dispatched to write, with whatever quotes he got, before he would return to England.

"We're ready to go to Falmouth, Mr. Potter," the Romanian ministry worker said, holding up the Portkey."

"I want to go to Bordeaux, not Falmouth," Harry smiled.

"What?" The ministry official looked started.

"Bordeaux. It's in France," Harry said.

"I know where it is!" the man scoffed. "But we're supposed to get you to Falmouth. Everything is set up. It would be impractical to change it. Not to mention expensive."

"Bill me for it," Harry said. "I'm going to Bordeaux." Gabrielle just watched the exchange. It continued for a few moments before both she and Harry grabbed the small metal object and found their way to southwestern France.

"What was all that about?" Gabrielle asked as they stepped out into the warm evening sunlight.

"I suspect that there are all sorts of reporters waiting for me at the Falmouth terminal. And I'd prefer to avoid that," Harry admitted. He started to lead her down the street and she could not help but wonder where he was leading her. The streets of her home town were not very comforting at the moment. Instead they just made her think of her family.

"Oh," she said. "You did not seem to mind the reporters that much."

"I don't mind reporters at all," Harry admitted. "But that doesn't mean I really want to talk to them right now."

"Oh," she said.

"And it's only some of them, really. Like the first two. They're not out there for any purpose than to hopefully break some story that will surprise people for a week or two. That's not journalism. It's just annoying," Harry said.

"That's why you only talked to the one man?"

"I had to at least act like I was appeasing the other two. But I know Bob Graves. He's a good guy. I've done a few interviews with him. He doesn't have an agenda other than be the best quidditch reporter in the business. He'd actually invited me to dinner with he and his wife before, after one of our interviews. They're good people," Harry explained.

"You must know a great many people," Gabrielle said.

"I guess," Harry shrugged. "It happens when you travel a lot."

"I suppose," Gabrielle shrugged. She was quiet for a moment. In her mind she pondered just how it was so easy to talk to Harry Potter. Really, he was Harry Potter. He was one of the top quidditch players in the world. He was a war hero. And here he was, just walking down the street with her, without a care in the world. And he was just talking.

She had always imagined him as a bit of a loner. Not that she really had that much cause to think about Harry Potter. But that was how she pictured him. As someone who would be quiet and away from others. But he seemed perfectly adept at fitting in and appeasing other people. She had watched him be crowded by people he did not care for. And yet he always had something for them. And it did not even seem like he noticed that they were just taking and taking from him.

But from what she had seen, she suspected he knew a great deal more than he let on. After about half a mile of walking down Bordeaux streets she spoke up once more.

"Where are we going," she asked.

"I was just enjoying the walk," Harry admitted. And she just blinked at him. She certainly had not expected that answer.

"Are you serious?" she asked.

"Yes," he responded. "Are you ready to go to our destination now?" he asked. She just blinked.

"Okay," she said. And he pulled her into an alley, out of the sights of anyone who would be passing by. Moments later she felt like she was being shoved through a tube, but then the air was back, and she was standing outside a small, two story town house that looked all too familiar.

"How do you know where I live?" she asked, feeling a bit startled by the sudden apparation. Her parents had taken her side-along before. But there had always been some type of warning.

"I can read minds," he said.

"How do you know where I live?" she asked again, in a much sterner voice.

"Your parents invited me over once. When we were playing an exhibition against the Lacanau Lightning," Harry admitted. "Bill and Fleur came too. I think it was their idea, given that we were in the area. Titus was injured at the time and stayed in Ballycastle to recover so I figured it was a better idea than going out alone."

"Where was I?" she asked.

"Still at school, probably," he said. "It was in like early May."

"Who won?" she frowned as she walked up to the door. It was locked but she had a key. She took it out and opened the door, frowning at the memories stepping inside would bring.

"Two-Ten to One-Eighty, Bats," Harry smirked.

"So their chasers destroyed you?" she asked.

"Nah, no snitch in the exhibition. Just two thirty minute halves. Seekers played as chasers," Harry explained.

"Oh," she said. "Why did you bring me to my house?" she asked, looking around the foyer and not moving into the home any further.

"I figured you'd want to pack. Unless you'd rather just wear Beauxbatons uniforms all summer," he said. She blushed a little bit. She'd forgotten about that. Although she had enough clothing to get through the summer in her school trunk, which was shrunk in her bag at the moment. But it would be nice to not have to do laundry every couple of days.

"Oh. That is probably a good idea," she admitted.

"Want me to wait here or to help?" He smiled. She just stared at her for a moment.

"Could you check the kitchen for any mail? And then if you would not mind shrinking things it would make it go quicker," she said. He just nodded and walked off down the hallway toward where he knew the kitchen would be while she walked upstairs toward her bedroom.

Harry stepped into the kitchen and looked around, frowning a bit. He always liked the Delacours and he'd miss them, even if he very rarely saw them. He looked around a bit, through three days' worth of a French paper, before finding some standard envelopes. He sent them off to Daphne, assuming she could figure out whatever needed to be done with the Delacour estate. After all, he paid her very generously.

A few moments later he turned back through the kitchen and returned to the foyer. Harry spent some time gazing into each room he passed. An empty house was an odd thing. He couldn't quite place his feelings about the dwelling. But they were not particularly good.

Each room brought back memories. And they weren't even memories of people he knew all that well. For a moment, he wondered if perhaps it was a mistake bringing Gabrielle back here. He'd hoped it would be catharsis. But the rooms were depressing him. He could only imagine what it was doing to her.

He walked up the stairs, moving down the hall to the only room that had a light on. He didn't peek into any of the other rooms on the second floor. Something about that seemed too intimate.

Gabrielle had left her door open and he simply walked in. She was busy gathering her things up. She'd located another suitcase and was in the process of filling it up with all sorts of clothing from her dresser.

He spent a moment just looking around her room. It was very standard, painted a soft blue. She had a large desk and dresser in one corner, and the bed lined the opposite wall, right next to the only two windows in the room. Aside from the chair and the bed there was no other furniture in the room. She also had two French doors that opened into a large closet.

The only wall decoration was an impressionist painting hanging above the wall. It was a fairly famous copy of a French painting. Harry recognized it, but he couldn't name it. The desk had a couple of trophies on the end of it. A few ribbons hung off one of the trophies, and a small tiara was looped around another.

"Can you help me with this?" Gabrielle asked from the closet. Harry walked over to the closet and peered in at her.

"With what?" he asked.

"Pick out a few dresses and put them into this garment bag. Fifteen or so should be sufficient," she ordered. And Harry just complied. He didn't bother really looking at the outfits that he pulled out of the closet. He barely spared a glance at most of them as he tried to, as neatly as possible, to get them into the garment bag.

For the most part he succeeded.

When he finished he walked the bag out of the closet and shrunk it quickly, before placing it into her suitcase. He turned to look at her. She was pulling clothing out of the dresser and tossing it in the general direction of her suitcase. He had to dodge one of her blouses. Fortunately that was considerably easier than dodging a bludger.

"Anything else?" Harry asked. She turned to look at him then seemed to think about it for a moment.

"No. That should be everything," she said. He nodded and just took a seat on her bed while she finished packing. He didn't say anything else. It only took her a few moments to finish the job. And once she did he shrunk everything into a more manageable size. She tucked the new suitcase into her purse as well and then sat next to him on her bed.

"I am not going to come back here, am I?" she asked quietly. He paused and looked around her room.

"I don't know," Harry said. "I think you will. You probably own it. The estate likely paid off any mortgage."

"Really?" she said quietly, looking around.

"Yes, probably," Harry said. "You won't know until you go through all the paperwork and legal stuff."

"Oh," she said, quietly looking around. Harry heard her sniffle once, then twice. But she was quiet for a time.

"I'm sorry. I should have thought this was a bad idea," Harry said.

"No," she said. "It is a good idea. I needed to come back here. I needed my things. I just miss them. I miss them a lot. And everything here reminds me of them. And I just want to break down and cry."

"Crying isn't a bad thing," he said.

"I know," she responded. "But I cried all of the last two nights. And I will probably cry more tonight. I do not want to cry more right now."

"I know the feeling," he responded. She just looked at him and shook her head.

"Harry Potter does not cry," she said.

"Sure he does," Harry responded. "He has feelings, you know."

"Maybe," she responded. "But Harry Potter is too strong to cry. He must simply endure." And she just stared at him. He didn't really know what to say in response to that. He wanted to tell her that for the last two days all he really wanted to do was cry. Every time he thought of one of his friends he almost broke down.

But he hadn't because he had to be stronger than that. Everyone at the party had been looking to him for some reason or another. Whether it was simply because they wanted to see Harry Potter, or if they were curious as to his reactions to everything that had happened to him.

And the absolute last thing he wanted to do was show them the little boy crying himself to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs. That was a Harry Potter that would never show his face in the world again.

So perhaps she was right. Perhaps he simply would just endure. If he was honest with himself, it was all he really knew how to do. All he'd done during the war was just outlast everyone.

It was how he played seeker too. He never wore down. He kept flying until he found that golden ball. He'd pester his opponents until they were so exhausted they couldn't see in front of them, much less find a golden ball across the pitch. He'd be everywhere, distracting, baiting, fighting. And he'd win.

"I assure you," he said after a few moments. "I break like everyone else." It felt like a cop-out. Like he was trying more to convince himself of something, than to reassure her of anything. And that wasn't his intention. But he didn't know what he could say.

"I want to leave," Gabrielle said quietly. And Harry figured that was probably the best course of action.

"Great. Let's go get some dinner," he said.

"I am not hungry," she said defiantly as they both stood and moved down to exit the Delacour home.

"You haven't eaten all day," he scoffed. She just shrugged her shoulders he what he assumed as an attempt to be cute.

"I am not hungry," she reiterated.

"Well that's nice. We're going to go to dinner before we move on to Falmouth because I am hungry and I don't know any restaurants in Falmouth worth eating at yet," he responded as they wandered down the stairs. She took one last look around the house before they stepped outside. Gabrielle locked the door and then simply looked at the building for a moment before turning and walking with him.

"And you know good restaurants in Bordeaux?" she asked.

"Not a one," he responded. "But I suspect you do."

"A few," she admitted, begrudgingly. She wondered if he was being intentionally cruel, making her revisit the areas that reminded her most of her family. She did not think that was like him. But she could not know for sure.

"Well where shall I take us then?" he asked.

"Back to the alley you apparated from originally. There are plenty of cafes and restaurants just down the road from there," she sighed. He nodded and once again Gabrielle Delacour felt herself pressed through a tube before she returned to the city.

"Which way?" Harry asked, stepping out of the alley.

"Over here," she said, walking down one of the streets until they ran into a few cafes. Harry picked one out purely based on the outdoor seating options.

Moments later he was sipping a Pernod while Gabrielle stared anxiously at a glass of water. He'd let her order, in French, as it seemed to be easier than fumbling with a drink menu. He just spent a moment watching people wander around the city before he looked at a menu.

When their waiter returned Harry let Gabrielle order for him. He couldn't understand enough French to know what she ordered for herself, but he at least did pick out that she ordered two separate things.

"You come here often?" he asked as she gazed out over the scenery.

"No," she said. "Fleur and I used to go to that one across the street on days when our parents were not home." She nodded toward one of the other cafes.

"I see," he said. "Good food?"

"I guess," she responded. "I usually just had some bread."

"Boring," Harry laughed. She just shrugged her shoulders again and Harry was starting to think that it was more of a defense mechanism, rather than an attempt to be cute. He stared at her for a moment, sipping his drink, and wondering just what he was getting himself into.

But then his food came and he was distracted. The sandwich he'd ordered was excellent and he was starving so he ate it in what seemed to be just a few bites.

Gabrielle picked at a small salad of greens and a tiny piece of chicken. She took a sip of water ever few bites and seemed to savor the food far more than she should. But Harry didn't remember seeing her eat anything since lunch the day before, so he expected it was justified.

They didn't stay long after they finished eating. And Harry sensed they were probably done talking for the evening. She fell into step with him as they walked back to the portkey terminal.

It wasn't as hard as Harry expected to con one of the officials into making him a portkey to Falmouth. They only had to wait a few minutes for the illegal travel plans to come together. And then it was simply moments later before the pair stepped out into the cool Falmouth evening.

Harry's only thought was to hope that Titus and Eva weren't having some type of debauched party at their new residence.

Author's Note: As always thanks for reading and reviewing. I do appreciate it. The best way to actually contact me and get a response is through PM on the website.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Zaion Indulias for the beta work on this chapter.

Chapter 5

It had rained in Falmouth. Judging from the puddles around the streets, it had rained for a while, too. But as Harry Potter and Gabrielle Delacour stepped out into the streets, it was no longer raining. The air still smelled of it, though. Harry inhaled deeply as he stepped out into the street. He closed his eyes and simply took it all in.

When he opened them, Gabrielle was just staring at him. Waiting patiently for him to start walking. He just smiled at her and eventually, she spoke.

"Where do you live?" she asked. He shrugged a bit.

"Not quite sure, really. Somewhere down by the port. I'll recognize it when we get there," he laughed.

"Because we have not walked enough today?" she scoffed. He just smiled a bit.

"Not yet, no. I like walking," Harry responded jovially, as opposite of her tone as he could physically muster.

"I have gathered that," she countered quietly. And they set off on their way. To her credit she didn't complain again for the duration of the walk. Really, Harry didn't particularly let her. As he prattled on about certain aspects of the city, and things he'd done while being a visiting player in years past. Gabrielle didn't really make any sort of comment, but she listened. Or at least he thought she did.

Of course, it wasn't like he was planning on quizzing her on his adventures in Falmouth while a member of the Ballycastle Bats. So he really didn't care if she was actually paying attention or not. That didn't seem to be that important.

It took a few more blocks than he thought it would before things started to look rather familiar. Gabrielle did not seem to mind, she also appeared to have no trouble keeping up with Harry's fairly brisk pace.

Eventually, though she started to grow slightly annoyed and spoke up.

"Are you lost?" she asked. He laughed a little bit.

"Maybe," he teased.

"Are you serious?" she said again.

"Maybe," he teased.

"If it starts raining on me I am going to be cross with you," she scoffed.

"It's not going to rain," Harry laughed as lightning streaked across the channel.

"You were saying?" Gabrielle asked, nodding toward the sky above the harbor.

"I'm sure that's blowing away and not in," he said knowingly.

"If you insist," she said.

"If it starts raining I'll apparate us there," he said.

"Why do you not just do that in the first place?" Gabrielle asked.

"Because I like walking," he responded, reiterating the point. She just rolled her eyes, but kept walking along side of him.

"You are impossible," she said.

"I'm actually fairly easy to deal with. I'm easy going and tend to just go with the flow. I'm really fairly simple to get along with. I just don't really like being bothered about the past," Harry explained, keeping his tone light and friendly. Gabrielle just rolled her eyes.

"But stubborn," she commented.

"I prefer insistent," Harry countered.

"I am sure you do," she said. They were moving down a street right near the harbor. The channel lay off to their right.

"Oh I do." He smiled.

"Are we almost there?" she sighed.

"Impatient much?" Harry asked.

"It is cold out," she made an excuse. He just shook his head.

"Not really," he said. And then she changed the subject.

"What do you live in a hotel?" she seemed to notice the theme of the street. Falmouth was a touristy town, and they were walking past quite a few high-end boutique hotels.

"Not currently," he responded.

"But this street is all hotels," she observed.

"And my house was probably one at one time. But it's been renovated and now it's just a rather large home that I share with some teammates," Harry explained. "It's that one, up there, the blue one."

"Oh. It looks nice," Gabrielle said, staring at it for a moment. He noticed her eyes went wide as they kept walking.

"It seems nice," Harry said.

"You should know if it is nice though, should you not? It should not seem to be anything to you," Gabrielle observed.

"Well I only moved in a day before I came to Romania," Harry commented.

"Oh," she said. "You have had a very busy week."

"It hasn't even been a full week yet," Harry said. "And it seems to just go on and on." He let out a long sigh and Gabrielle took a moment to just look at him. He looked very, very tired. She could not quite place why. But his eyes seemed to just stare off ahead of him. It was almost eerie. After a moment his gaze shifted off toward the water.

He looked tense as he moved. It was a contradiction to his fluid movements, and lively tone. She could tell he was bottling things up. His jaw was tight, and his hands balled into fists ever couple of moments. Before he would catch himself and slowly uncoil his fingers. She doubted that she would have even noticed the gesture if she had not been staring at him.

But he did not look angry. So she could not help but wonder if perhaps it was some way of dealing with stress. He looked like he needed to lay in a hot tub for an hour or so. To let the stress of the last few days walk away. But she certainly could not tell him that.

And that just led into her next problem. She did not know what to say. She was not sure if she should even say anything. But she was never any good in this type of situation. She was not the one her friends went to whenever they had some sort of emotional trauma.

Of course she should probably be talking to one of her friends about her own emotional trauma. Or her parents. Her parents would have known just what to tell her in this situation. But they were not around to say anything to her. To console her. They would not be around to do that ever again.

She sniffled a bit as they walked.

"You okay?" Harry asked. He didn't look at her.

"It is just cold," she used the excuse once more, reaching up to rub her nose as if it was running. Thankfully, he bought the excuse.

And she just kept looking at him. Wondering how he was composed. Deep down, she knew that his composure was likely the only thing keeping her composed. It would be so embarrassing to lose everything in front of Harry Potter. But somehow, she suspected that he would not mind.

"It is getting chilly," he admitted. "Want a warming charm?"

"No, that is alright. We are only a couple of blocks away now," she said. The idea of letting him cast magic on her was foreign to her. She did not really like when anyone casted something on her. It felt invasive and wrong. He did not seem to take stock into anything with her refusal, though.

"And it's almost time for you to meet my lovable teammates," Harry responded.

"Should I be concerned?" Gabrielle asked meekly.

"Nah. They're nice people," Harry said. He couldn't really think of much else to say about Eva or Titus. Which probably wasn't that good of a sign. But they were generally nice. And he highly doubted that Gabrielle would bother them with impertinent questions about quidditch.

"What if they do not like me?" She asked. "Or do not want me to live with them?"

"Well they don't really get a choice in the matter," Harry said.

"But it is their home too," Harry said.

"Well technically it belongs to Titus and I. So Eva isn't really allowed to have an opinion on the matter. We just let her live there," Harry explained.

"Why?" Gabrielle asked.

"Well, it seemed like a better idea than the three of us each looking for apartments. We wound up having lunch just down the road after the trade. And we were going to split up and go apartment shopping when Titus suggested just buying a house for the time we'll be here. After all, he and I can certainly afford it. So we found this place, paid cash, and moved in," Harry explained.

"I thought buying property was supposed to be difficult and time consuming," Gabrielle frowned. "My father did a great deal of property law."

"I suspect it probably is. But the building was empty, except for some furnishings, so we just bought it in one go. Eva and Titus went and bought some furniture. They were going to do more shopping over the weekend to make it feel a bit more like home. We had our furnishings from our Ballycastle apartments transferred over as well," Harry explained.

"You are unbelievable," Gabrielle said, shaking her head. "How can you just buy a home and furnish it on a whim?"

"I told you earlier. Titus and I do very well for ourselves," Harry teased.

"But still, a house?" she looked at him, shaking her head.

"It's not that expensive of one," Harry commented. They were approaching the door when Gabrielle took a breath to steady herself. She would not say it aloud to Harry, but she was afraid of meeting his friends. She was wondering how much she would impose on his summer. She did not want to be a burden. Maybe it was not such a good idea to take up his invitation for the season.

Of course, she knew that no matter where she would go at this point she would be a burden. So she would just have to deal with it.

Before they entered, though, she wanted to ask a few more questions.

"Are Titus and Eva a couple?" she asked quietly. Mostly to try to determine if she would have to put up with any sort of public displays during the summer.

"What?" Harry asked, as if he didn't understand the question. She frowned, wondering if something was lost in translation. The last few days had been the longest she had consistently used English for.

"Like boyfriend and girlfriend?" she said.

"No," Harry laughed. His laughing at the question made her feel a bit silly.

"But you have made them sound very close," she said.

"Well they are. We all are, really, I guess. It happens when you're teammates for a couple of years," Harry looked like he wanted to say more. To explain the exact details of the relationship. All he really managed to do, though was shrug his shoulders.

"So they are not together?" Gabrielle asked. She fought off the urge to ask about Harry and Eva. He spoke fondly about her. But she did not need to press the subject. It was not any of her business.

"No" Harry said again. "You don't really get together with teammates. That's frowned upon."

"Really?" Gabrielle asked, seeming a little surprised by Harry's answer.

"It's believed to be bad for morale," Harry said.

"Do you think so?" she asked. He just shrugged.

"Indifferent, really. I can see where it probably would be. But I don't have any opinion on the matter," Harry said, for a moment she could sense his shift in mood. He answered that question exactly how he'd spoken to the reporters earlier in the day.

"That was a very passive answer," Gabrielle commented. Harry nodded a little bit as they walked up to the door.

"It was. But it's the truth, surprisingly enough," he admitted.

"I shall have to trust you on that," she said quietly. She paused outside the double door that led into the home.

"Yes, you will," He affirmed before he opened the door. "But for now, bien venue chez Button et Potter." He pronounced every syllable and letter and she cringed as he did.

"Bienvenue. Chez. Et," she said, correcting his pronunciation of each word out of habit. But part of her suspected he intentionally butchered the French. But she didn't feel like asking him about it.

"That's what I said," he smirked and led her into the entryway. He seemed rather relieved as he entered the building. They walked down into a hallway and into a large, open concept kitchen and living room.

Gabrielle noticed someone a figure lying on the couch, he appeared to be asleep. She could hear a quidditch broadcast from an unseen radio. It took her a moment to realize the figure was Titus Button and she couldn't help but blink a little bit as that thought dawned upon her.

Something about it seemed wrong. Well, that was not the correct way to describe it. It just did not seem like a celebrity would be lounging on a couch, without a care in the world. She knew she should have thought more about what they actually do in their free time. But to have it be something so normal just seemed wrong.

The only time she could actually picture Titus Button, or remembered seeing him, was after one of the times the Bats won the championship. She just remembered the pictures of Harry and Titus, arm in arm, smiling at the camera and looking like a pair of Greek gods.

That was how they always appeared to her, armed in their quidditch gear and waiting for the next opponent. The thought that they did something other than play a sport on brooms was foreign. She just stared at him for a moment, before turning her gaze to Harry, who walked into the kitchen.

Even when she'd seen Harry and Titus briefly at parties held by the Weasley's, they'd seemed to be larger than life figures. But now, with them seeming so normal, everything just felt strange.

"Want anything to drink?" he asked as he went to the fridge. He pulled out a bottle of water and opened it, taking a rather large sip.

"Water please," she said carefully. She walked up to the counter, unsure of what else she could do. She leaned over the counter, surprised at how tired she felt, as he slid a bottle of water to her. She opened it and drank slowly as he started looking through his fridge for something or other.

For a moment, he seemed to forget about her. And she was not sure what to say. So she just stood there and sipped her water, hoping that the cool liquid would do something to quell the aching pain in her stomach.

It didn't.

"Where's Eva?" Harry asked from the fridge. Gabrielle was about to open her mouth to question how she was supposed to do that when a male voice rang out from the living room.

"At the pool with Cora," Titus responded.

"We have a pool?" Harry laughed.

"Third level," Titus said.

"Knew we should have bothered looking up there before we moved in," He said dryly.

"It was pretty awful, but Eva's fairly good at designer charms. She made it rather nice. I think she's going to attempt to redo the entire level as a sort of party suite," Titus explained.

"Interesting," was all Harry mustered. He went back to searching through his fridge and Gabrielle was left to wonder just what she should do, and if she was invisible.

Moments later she was mercifully distracted by someone scampering down the stairs. She watched as a rather pretty brunette bounded down the stairs. She had a towel wrapped around her waist, her hair was dripping wet, and she wore a bikini top. Gabrielle just stared at her for a moment, secretly wishing she had the confidence to even attempt that look, much less pull it off.

"Harry!" the girl yelled. She was obviously inebriated and giggled a bit as she spoke.

"Eva," Harry responded dryly. She went to hug him but stopped as he held up his hands and she apparently realized her condition.

"Oops," she giggled. "I'm all wet." And she was stricken with another fit of giggles. Gabrielle just watched carefully, not sure exactly how she should feel about the situation as a whole.

"You are," he said. "How's the pool?"

"Fun!" she exclaimed. "I always wanted a pool!"

"Well now you have one," he said. She pushed past him and moved to one of the cupboards, pulling something out of it and holding it carefully in her hands. To Gabrielle it appeared to be nothing more than a small canister of a pale green liquid. She giggled some more and then looked at Harry.

"I do!" she paused then and just stared at him. After a moment she tilted her head to the side and spoke again. "You look terrible."

"Thanks," Harry said.

"No, seriously, you look awful," Eva said. "You should go to bed."

"I think that for someone who just found out his best friend and entire family-"

"Fuck you," Titus interrupted immediately after the words 'best friend.' Gabrielle suppressed the urge to giggle as Harry rolled his eyes and kept talking.

"Disappeared in a portkey accident and are probably dead I look pretty good," Harry said. Eva just shrugged a little bit like she did not quite comprehend what Harry was saying.

"I guess," she said. Harry just rolled his eyes but smiled a bit at his friend.

"Now what are you doing with that?" he asked, nodding toward the canister.

"Cora wanted more Lil' Voldies," Eva said sheepishly. Harry laughed rather loudly.

"I'm beginning to think Titus and I were a bad influence on you, Eva," he said.

"I blame you about my behavior when talking to my parents," Eva nodded.

"So Mrs. Larson still hates me?" Harry laughed.

"Oh yes," Eva laughed with him. Gabrielle felt like she was missing some sort of an inside joke from the way they smirked at each other. But she spoke up, asking the question that stuck in her head for the last few moments.

"What is a little Voldie?" she frowned as she spoke. Eva seemed to notice her for the first time but just giggled more and put the canister down, slowly unscrewing it and offering it to Gabrielle. She just looked down at it.

"Try one," Eva giggled.

"I'm not sure that's a particularly good idea," Harry said, eyeing Gabrielle carefully. She just frowned but looked away from the canister.

"Oh come on, one won't kill her," Eva giggled. She gestured to the canister and Gabrielle looked down into it. It just looked like a green liquid to her. It vaguely reminded her of Harry's drink from that evening.

"But what are they?" she asked. Eva pulled out another cup and filled it with sugar before getting a spoon out from a drawer and reaching into the canister. She dug into the container and pulled out a few little candies, dropping them into the sugar and nudging them around so they were coated in the substance.

Gabrielle recognized the gummy bears easily enough. Except these weren't bear shaped. They were instead shaped like Death Eaters. They were almost cute, in a macabre sort of way. She knew the Weasley joke shop sold them as a sort of novelty candy.

Eva found two small plastic forks and tossed one to Harry. He caught it without even really paying attention. When the chaser tossed the other to Gabrielle it simply hit her hand and fell down to the counter. She fumbled after it, thankful that neither of the professional athletes paying attention made any sort of comment.

She watched as Harry speared one of the little bears and ate it quickly, sighing contentedly as he did. It looked inauspicious enough, so she carefully reached out with the fork to spear one of the candies. She brought it tentatively to her mouth and put it in.

At first she just felt the granulated sugar on her tongue. And that was sweet, but did not seem to be anything special. Next the fruity flavor of the candy came through. But moments later it was simply anise and alcohol. And it burned as she attempted to chew the treat. Both Eva and Harry laughed as she made a face before she managed to swallow the gummy bear.

She immediately opened her bottle of water and drank the rest of it. Harry took it after she put it down and tossed it into a trash bin. He took another one out of the fridge and offered it to her. She took it and started to drink from it as well before looking at the two quidditch players.

"What was that?" she coughed, wanting the taste to vanish immediately.

"Absinthe infused gummy bear," Harry said. He speared another one on his fork before eating it. She just stared at him as Eva giggled and closed the canister.

"They are terrible," she frowned.

"Delicious," Titus said from behind her. It startled her a little but the famous beater simply wound up leaning against the counter next to her. He took the fork from her and speared the final two Eva had laid out, eating them in one bite.

"Agreed," Harry laughed before he polished off his bottle of water as well.

"Well Cora wanted more. So I'm going back to the pool," Eva giggled and ran back up the stairs. She stumbled and nearly fell down the entire flight, but caught herself. Harry just turned to Titus.

"When did she start drinking?" he asked.

"About two thirty," Titus responded.

"She's pissed," Harry said.

"Yes, she is," Titus responded.

"Did we really have a pool?" he asked.

"No idea," Titus said. "I would doubt it. I think she just decided to make one."

"Maybe it will increase the property value," he laughed.

"We can only hope," Titus sighed. "How was Bulgaria?"

"I was in Romania," Harry responded. Titus just shrugged as if he didn't find that to be a particularly important detail.

"But how was it?" Titus asked.

"As you would expect, I'd think," Harry said. Titus just nodded.

"That well, eh?" he said.

"You know how much I hate things like that," Harry sighed.

"So they make you talk?" Titus asked. Gabrielle could not help but watch the two converse. They were not looking at each other. In fact, both were simply staring across the room at the wireless and she secretly suspected they both knew exactly what was going on in the game as well as their conversation.

"As per usual," Harry said. "I should just take your damn advice and just not show at one of these things."

"I've only been saying that for two years," Titus laughed. Gabrielle couldn't help but chuckled a bit under her breath too. The beater moved to the fridge and opened it.

"And like most things you say, I've been completely ignoring it," Harry commented.

"Beer?" Titus asked, choosing to ignore the snide comment.

"Sure," Harry said. Titus pulled three cans from the fridge and slid one to Harry before sliding one to Gabrielle. She stared nervously at the can. She did not want a beer. Of course, she had never had a beer before. Harry popped his open quickly and took a swig. Titus did the same. The two of them went back to talking.

"Want to get nine in after practice tomorrow?" Titus asked. Harry seemed to think about it, but Gabrielle did not notice because she was too busy staring at the can on the counter in front of her.

"When's practice?" Harry asked.

"Ten thirty," Titus responded. Harry pressed his lips together and thought about it for a moment.

"So done by one, probably," Harry said.

"If we were in Ballycaslte, sure. I suspect Davis won't be as easy going as we're used to. And then there's Lunfrey," Titus frowned. "I was thinking we'd be lucky to get out of there by two-thirty to three."

"Four hours?" Harry groaned. "I'm not sure I've had a four hour practice as a professional."

"Me either," Titus responded. "But I was talking with Ben and Jordan and they both of them concurred that's how long the Falcons usually practice for."

"That's annoying," Harry commented. And Gabrielle had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. So she went back to the beer in front of her. After a few moments she shrugged and opened it with a shrug. Neither of the boys appeared to be paying attention to her so she brought the can carefully to her nose and sniffed. It did not smell that horrible. So she took a sip.

She hated it. It was bitter and dry and horrible. She made a face and put it down on the counter again, wondering why anyone would ever drink that when wine was readily available. But Harry and Titus did not seem to mind.

"It is," Titus continued. "I just hope we don't have to do like team building exercises."

"Fair warning, if we have to fall backwards off our brooms and attempt to catch people, I'm not catching you," Harry said.

"Wasn't planning on catching you, either," Titus responded and the two shared a brief smirk. Gabrielle was not sure what was amusing about causing each other bodily harm, but decided it was best to not comment.

"If we can get nine in I'm down," Harry said.

"I think we probably can. Jordan mentioned a course just north of town. Said it was pretty good," Titus commented.

"Spend a lot of time with the rest of the team this weekend?" Harry laughed.

"No," Titus responded. "Just after you left until the end of practice. Scoped a few things out and got out of there. I never thought I'd want to leave a quidditch stadium that much."

"Losing the title to Montrose?" Harry commented, remembering their first attempt at the league title and Harry's worst quidditch memory since falling off his broom because of dementors.

"Well that sucked and all, but they just outplayed us," Titus said.

"You really hate Falmouth that much?" Gabrielle asked. Both Harry and Titus took a moment to look at her, and sip their beer. She frowned a little bit and looked down at the counter, feeling a bit like a petulant child who'd spoken out of turn.

"Not really," Titus said after swallowing the alcohol. "I just really loved being a Ballycastle Bat."

"And you do not enjoy being a Falmouth Falcon?" Gabrielle asked.

"Not really," Titus admitted.

"Why not?" Gabrielle tilted her head to the side and looked at the beater. It was his turn to look a bit like a petulant child. He shrugged his shoulders and stared at her for a moment.

"I'm sorry," Titus smiled but Gabrielle recognized the smile. It was the same type of vapid smile that Harry gave to people who he did not really wish to be talking to. "But have we been introduced?"

"Yes," she said. "You are Titus Button. I am Gabrielle Delacour. We have spoken at parties in the past." She frowned a bit as she spoke because she suddenly did not want to be around the older man. Harry was no help, either. He simply stood there and kept drinking his alcohol. Titus seemed to think about that for a minute, and then looked back at Harry.

"I assume we have a house guest for an extended period of time?" he asked.

"Well, in addition to Eva, yes," Harry nodded.

"And probably Cora the way they're going on," Titus muttered.

"Hey this was your idea," Harry laughed.

"Quiet," Titus snapped.

"Hey now. Just answer her question," Harry said.

"What was it again?" Titus asked.

"Why do you hate being a Falcon," Harry reiterated.

"Because the coach is a tool, the players are idiots, and the general manager needs to be hexed?" Titus responded, tilting his head to the side.

"But it just seems like they are making you work more. That is a weak excuse to not like something," Gabrielle commented.

"Seems like a perfectly good excuse to me," Harry commented. Titus gave him a quick nod.

"But do you not enjoy playing quidditch?" Gabrielle asked. She'd always assumed that people who got as far as they did loved the sport with every fiber of their being. Like there would be nothing at all they would rather do.

"Playing, yes," Titus said. "Practice isn't really much of anything. It's mostly a coach standing on the pitch and yelling at us. We do the same crap over and over until he's done yelling."

"Do it correctly the first time?" Gabrielle suggested. She was a bit surprised how much that made her sound like Madame Fay. But she shook that thought from her head and resumed arguing with the beater.

"Oh we do," Titus laughed. "How about you come out to practice tomorrow and watch. I assure you it's tediously boring."

"Okay," she said. And then Harry yawned. It took her buy surprise as it made her realize just how tired she was. She watched him gather up the empty cans, he ignored hers, and vanish them with a flick of his wand.

"Well I'm going to need to crash if I expect to do anything at practice," Harry said. Titus just nodded.

"You both look fairly exhausted," he said. "I'm going to go leer at Cora and Eva until I fall asleep."

"Sounds fun," Harry said. "Night."

"Night," Titus responded.

"Good night," Gabrielle said mostly out of instinct. And moments later she found herself being led away from the kitchen and living area.

Harry led her upstairs and she started to feel concerned. She did not know what Harry expected of her. She did not know where he was leading her to. Was she supposed to act like Eva? What would Harry want to do with her?

She did not know what living with someone entailed. She started to panic, inwardly. She should have thought about things like this. She paused as Harry stopped outside a door and smiled at her. She swallowed hard and debated turning and running. But Harry just opened the door and turned to her.

"I'm across the hall, Titus is down the hall, if you need anything. Sorry the furnishings are a bit sparse, we can fix that at some point during the week, if you like," he said and she peered into the room. It was fairly basic with just a simply made bed and desk. She frowned a bit and looked around.

"That would be nice," she said. He just smiled a bit.

"Yeah, we just kept the old stuff in the rooms we didn't use. So feel free to change anything. Do you need help unpacking?" he asked.

"If you could just restore everything to its normal size I would appreciate it," she admitted. Harry nodded and took a few moments to do that, leaving her bags on the bed before wishing her a good night and stepping out of the room. Gabrielle just stood there for a few moments before methodically unpacking her things and putting them away. It didn't take her nearly as long as she expected. Eventually she changed and crawled into the bed.

It was cold and it smelled sterile. It made her miss her real bed, and her real comforter and her real room. But she knew that she really did not want to be in her real room. Because that just brought back more memories than she cared to have.

It did not take long for the tears to come. She just buried her face in her pillow and waited for sleep to overtake her. Thankfully, that also did not take long.

"Breakfast!" Someone yelled from outside her door, after giving it three hard knocks with his knuckles. Gabrielle simply groaned and rolled onto her side debating getting up or not. She suspected there would not be a second knock and if she wanted to eat, she would have to either do it herself or get out of bed.

So, after a few moments of casual debate she eventually pulled herself out of the bed, gathered up a few of her things and some under garments. She walked to the closet and picked out a basic white dress before stepping into the hallway and walking down it until she found the bathroom.

The shower made her feel infinitely better. She took some time after to care for her hair and apply a tiny amount of makeup. She stepped back into her bedroom for a moment, mostly to deposit her pajamas and other laundry and to ponder breakfast.

As soon as thoughts of eggs entered her mind her stomach rumbled. She clutched it for a moment before working her way to the dresser in the room and finding her purse. She dug through it and pulled out her potions case and another silver vial, which she drank quickly.

Gabrielle carefully tucked the vial back into its spot and counted the ones she had remaining. She frowned a bit and knew she'd have to find an apothecary within the next ten days.

Of course she could have simply stopped taking the potion, but that seemed like a silly idea as the cramping in her stomach slowly faded to a dull ache. After that she made her way down the stairs.

She was not sure just what she expected, but Harry Potter in front of the stove while Titus Button and Eva Larson sipped tea was not it. Harry noticed her first.

"Good morning, Gabrielle," he said cheerfully. She noticed they'd set a place for her at the counter. She sat down and poured herself some tea, looking around nervously.

"Good morning," she responded carefully. Eva and Titus looked at her while she looked at Harry. He appeared to be making three separate omelets at once.

"Anything you would like?" Harry asked. She frowned a little bit and thought about it.

"I am not that hungry," she said, instinctively.

"So something light?" Harry suggested. "I think we have some granola and yogurt."

"Toast?" Gabrielle suggested.

"Sure. The first batch should be done in a second," Harry explained and went back to cooking.

"So you're Gabrielle?" the older girl asked from her right side as Harry's attention turned back to the food. Gabrielle just nodded.

"I am," she said.

"I'm Eva," the chaser offered her hand. Gabrielle took it briefly and then focused back on her tea.

"Nice to meet you," she said meekly.

"You too," Eva said. She was silent for a few moments before she spoke again, for no other purpose than to prevent the four of them from sitting in silence. "So what do your friends call you?"

"What?" Gabrielle asked, the question caught her off guard.

"Well my birth certificate says I'm Evelyn Larson. But I didn't like Eve or Evie. So I went with Eva instead. Does everyone just call you Gabrielle?"

"Oh. No," she admitted. "My friends shorten it to Elle usually. Mathieu calls me Ellie when he feels I am being particularly childish."

"That's kind of a dick move," Eva commented.

"Sounds like something I'd do," Titus agreed.

"I guess. I do not really mind Elle. Sometimes Ellie does irritate me, though," she admitted. And it was something she'd never said aloud before. She suspected that it was purely because that was what her parents had called her until she was about six, so hearing it made her feel like a child.

"So who's Mathieu?" Eva asked, smiling at the petit blonde girl.

"He is my boyfriend," Gabrielle admitted. She paused on the word for a moment, suspecting that the three adults would not take that just how she wanted it to sound. They were distracted, for a moment, though as Harry wandered over and served each of them their food. He gave her two pieces of toast. She reached for the peanut butter and spread a small dollop onto one of the pieces while ignoring the other.

"So you hate what your boyfriend calls you?" Titus laughed. Gabrielle suspected at least part of this conversation was payback for her questioning him last night.

"Sometimes," she admitted quietly, taking a tiny bite of toast.

"Fuck him then," Eva laughed.

"I would rather not," Gabrielle responded. When all three of the professional quidditch players started laughing, she suspected that she missed the context of the chasers comment.

"Then why bother dating him?" Eva asked.

"He is nice?" Gabrielle said. She was certain she would not be able to explain her feelings to them. Sex was simply something that was not on her mind. She did not know why, it just had never been a driving force to her. She could not make Mathieu understand that, how did she expect to make these three understand?

"Decent reason," Harry laughed. But then he changed the subject. "Who do we play on Wednesday?" he asked.

"Appleby?" Eva suggested.

"The Pride," Titus commented. "Do you two ever pay any attention to the schedule?"

"Bats play the Tornados," Eva shrugged, but got her point across.

"So I'm going to be doing a ton of chaser drills," Harry sighed.

"Unless coach Davis just wants you to vulture," Titus commented. Harry winced.

"I hope not. I hate that. I'm terrible at it," Harry said.

"Why would you do chaser drills?" Gabrielle asked. "You are a seeker?"

"Oh. Uhm. It's got to do with style of play and how I like to play," Harry started, but Titus interrupted.

"May I?" He asked. Harry nodded and went back to his eggs. Titus just smiled and then continued talking.

"Harry here is a bit of a special player," He started. Eva snorted, suppressing a laugh.

"How so?" Gabrielle asked.

"Well, the more he's doing, the better he is at finding the snitch. So Harry tends to be everywhere. He usually joins plays as a fourth chaser. Depending on the opponent he will focus either defensively or offensively. The Pride of Potree are an exceptionally good defensive team with a very solid keeper. So Harry will focus on being another threat in the offensive zone while he searches for the snitch," Titus explained.

"Does that not distract him from the snitch?" Gabrielle asked.

"You'd think. But he can apparently focus on a million things at once," Titus smiled. "And it's chaotic for the other team. Often our chasers will start running up the score, so their seeker will join in to attempt to keep the snitch catch relevant. But Harry is better at multi-tasking than any other seeker I have witnessed, so they just fall into the trap. If their seeker ignores him typically our chasers win the match, or we focus bludgers on the seeker to distract him. Or Harry will fall off and pester him or her for a bit."

"And that works?" Gabrielle asked.

"Well enough that we won a bunch of league titles," Titus smirked.

"Who came up with the idea?" she asked.

"Our old coach at Ballycastle," Harry admitted. "It's actually used by a few of the better teams in the league. Originally Titus acted as an auxiliary chaser because Quigley was good enough to hold out by himself on defense." She noticed he was cleaning up at that point. "Sometimes we both would join plays and give our team essentially a five against three. Could score goals in bunches like that if it worked out well enough."

"I see," Gabrielle said. She was a little lost. It didn't make much sense to her. But she suspected professional quidditch was not as leisurely passed as schoolyard quidditch.

"Enough about quidditch theory though. If we let Titus start talking about it we'll be here all day. And we need to get to practice," Harry said.

Moments later the Falmouth Falcons were gathered in the locker room of the Cheery Owls Coliseum. Harry had shown Gabrielle the path to the stands and introduced her to the coach and a few other staff members so she wouldn't be bothered.

He changed into a practice uniform. It was white with their alternate logo, a falcon claw that appeared to be swooping down from the sky toward its prey, on the chest. Harry was the first of his teammates to finish changing, checking his room, and make his way to the pitch.

When he flew out he did a quick lap around the stadium to familiarize himself with the comet before he found Gabrielle sitting in the shade near the top of the stadium. She looked a little bit bored and he felt like perhaps he shouldn't have just shuffled her around to quidditch practice. He made a mental note to tell her she could do whatever she wanted. He certainly didn't want her to feel like a prisoner or anything.

Harry flew over toward her and chatted with her for a couple of moments before the rest of the team came out to the pitch. As soon as they showed up though, he flew over to start practice.

The practice started much like one at Ballycastle would have. The coach charmed a bunch of quaffles to float around the center of the pitch and return there after shot. The starting keeper took one set of hoops and the reserve took another while the rest of the team took turns flying back and forth, picking up a quaffle, and taking shots.

Titus and Harry did not put much effort into the standard shoot-around. They never really did. It was designed to get the keepers some work in before the other drills started. The chasers tended to play for bragging rights at this point, the other positions didn't really care.

After about twenty minutes of that the coach called them in and went over performances in the last match. He had some pretty scathing comments on all of the negative plays made by each member of the team and said very little positive about their last win.

Harry recognized the tactic easily enough. Many coaches focused on negatives as a way to motivate players. It wasn't very effective for Harry. He hated when people just constantly brought up things he screwed up at. He knew when he messed up, and he probably knew it more than anyone who was watching. So he pretty much ignored the coach and nodded when it felt appropriate.

Thankfully, Coach Davis didn't really have much to say to him. So that was good. The older man was; however, especially critical of Titus and Eva, which surprised Harry. The two looked a little shell shocked, too, as it had been a long time since they'd had a coach lay into them about their play.

Harry had to admit he didn't really remember all of the details of their last match as well as he should have. But they won, and they'd played fairly well. He figured it was best if he didn't comment, though, and instead he just tuned it all out.

After they switched to positional drills. It was just basic flying stuff. Harry had his first real one on one contact with the team's seeker coach. He was an older man who had never played professionally. Harry immediately noticed that the team did not carry a reserve seeker. He thought that a little odd, but didn't make a comment on it. Many teams used the final roster spot for a utility player that could fill in anywhere as needed. But the Lunfrey led Falcons instead had an absurd amount of reserve chasers.

Harry made a mental note to not get hurt, as he suspected there wouldn't be a single one in the bunch that could manage to catch a snitch. The seeker coach floated a few feet away from him on a broom and tossed snitched sized balls at him. They were charmed to attempt to escape. Harry didn't pay attention to the drill, and still caught every one without much effort.

Instead he focused his attention on the rest of the practice. He watched each of the players in their individual drills. After about fifteen minutes he told the coach to stop throwing the balls at him. He hadn't done drills this remedial since he'd practice alone in his third year at Hogwarts. And he was starting to feel a bit insulted.

He floated over toward the beaters. Jordan Wall and the reserve beater whose name Harry couldn't remember were hitting bludgers at targets while on the move. Titus was arguing with the position coach as well.

"What are we doing?" Harry laughed.

"I have no idea," Titus asked. "I wasn't aware I was back in second year trying out for the Slytherin team."

"You had to try out? Man you must have sucked," Harry teased. Titus just rolled his eyes.

"Derrick Lunfrey and Coach Davis feel that at least an hour of basic drills are a crucial way to start any practice," the beater coach said. Harry just blinked. Titus actually broke out laughing.

"Do you want to make sure I know how to fly too?" Titus asked, rolling his broom upside down and floating in front of the coach.

"No. But I may like to see how many laps you can run before the drills are over," the coach said, staring down at the pitch. Unfortunately for him Titus just laughed again.

"That would probably help. These drills are crap. I can do them with my eyes closed. Going through the motions without caring isn't going to help us in matches," Titus argued.

"Is something wrong?" coach Davis asked as he flew up toward the group of people.

"Button doesn't want to do the drills," the beater coach said.

"Really?" coach Davis asked.

"They're pointless. We're way beyond these types of drills," Titus said. He rolled his broom back upright and stared at the coach.

"Reports on you always did say you were lazy," coach Davis said. Titus just looked annoyed.

"He's not lazy, he's right," Harry said. He knew just how hard his friend worked at quidditch and he wasn't about to let the coach get away with insulting his friend.

"Enough, Potter," Davis spat. "These drills are an important part of our practice regimen. And as such every member of the Falmouth Falcons will perform them."

"And you wonder why you're as bad as Chudley," Titus scoffed under his breath.

"On the pitch, Button. Run laps until we're done," Davis ordered. Titus just rolled his eyes and flew off to comply. But in doing so he cut directly between the other two beaters on the roster and blindly swung his bat at the bludgers they were practicing with. Both hit their targets perfectly. Titus hadn't even bothered to watch their path.

"Get back to work, Potter," the coach said. Harry obliged, but put in even less effort than before as he wondered if he could manage to negotiate another trade.

Eventually, when the individual drills ended they started working on team plays. Coach Davis called the first ones. They all focused on exploiting the weak beater play of Jordan Wall. When Titus would try to cover for his partner, he'd get yelled at by the coach. Harry could tell it was wearing on the beater. After one play Harry suggested that Titus just whack a bludger at the coach.

It was probably for the best that his friend didn't take his advice.

"Potter, take over," coach Davis yelled after they ran a few plays. Harry blinked but called the next play. It was unsuccessful. So he tried another. It was also unsuccessful.

Harry wasn't surprised by that. He hated calling plays. He didn't want to be a leader, even if it was just on the pitch. He preferred to be more of a loner, to fly around and make his decisions in the air. But coach Davis didn't appear to want to let him do that. He started yelling at Harry when the plays they were running weren't working.

But before he could mouth off to the coach, Titus flew up next to him and suggested a few plays. They all worked out fairly well. At least better than the ones that Harry called.

Unfortunately, Davis caught on and switched Titus to a more defensive roll, making Harry work by himself as well. And the results were immediately worse.

Practice eventually wound down though. Harry found himself the last one off the pitch. He wandered slowly into the locker room, looking forward to getting out of the stadium as quickly as possible. Eva made a comment about how she'd see if Gabrielle wanted to get some lunch while Harry and Titus went off to golf, which Harry was excited for, because it couldn't have possibly been worse than practice.

"Potter, a word?" Coach Davis ordered as he stepped into the locker room. Harry just sighed but walked to the coach's office, hoping it wouldn't.

"What?" he asked.

"Have a seat," the coach said. He was sitting behind his desk. The office was otherwise very sparse. Harry paused for a moment before he pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. He figured arguing would just prolong the meeting.

"What?" Harry asked again as he lounged in the chair.

"Derrick and I want you to put this on your uniform," he said, sliding a cloth badge across the desk. Harry just started laughing.

"Not a chance," he said.

"What?" Davis responded. He looked legitimately surprised.

"I don't want to be the Captain of the Falmouth Falcons," Harry said sternly.

"I understand it is a bit daunting. But we are confident you can handle it. And that you will best represent the Falcons," the coach said.

"No," Harry responded.

"Why not?" the coach asked and Harry just stared at him for a few moments.

"Because I agree with Titus that you're a bad coach?" Harry said. Davis turned a shade of red that Harry hadn't seen since Vernon Dursley.

"This is a great opportunity," he started.

"That I don't need or want," Harry finished.

"Why not?" the man asked again through gritted teeth. Harry figured it was probably best to not answer the question exactly as he had the first time.

"Because I have no interest in running the team for you. I am contracted to catch snitches. And that's what I'm going to do. I don't care nearly as much about playbooks and creative play calling as Titus. I don't study quidditch theory. And I have no interest in being any type of a leader.

"And honestly? Haven't I done enough leading of people for a cause? I don't want to do more. It's in my contract that I can refuse requests like this and opt out at the end of the season if I so wish."

"Do you think that wise? It would hurt your next contract if teams think you aren't interested in anything but yourself," Davis said.

"Oh well," Harry said dryly.

"Just take the C," the man said. Harry shook his head.

"No. I've never seen Titus happier than when he earned the captaincy of the Bats. And I'm not going to take that away from him. Titus lives for this. It's been his dream his entire life. If you want me to pin an A on my uniform and fill in if Titus gets injured, fine. But I'm not taking the C from him," Harry spoke as sternly as he could. He stood when he finished and turned to exit the small office.

"You're very loyal to him," Davis said. "But Titus is a bad image. He's not the type of marketing Lunfrey wants."

"Maybe he isn't," Harry said with a shrug of his shoulders that indicated he didn't care. He reached out toward the door of the office and opened it, stepping back into the locker room. "But he's my best friend."

Author's Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. I do appreciate it. As always I'm contactable via PM I try to respond to most of those.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Zaion Indulias for the beta work on this chapter.

Chapter 6

Harry was reasonably happy with the forty-five he'd shot. He'd still lost to Titus, who shot forty-two, but he was closer to beating his friend than he'd been in a long time.

Honestly, he was a little surprised that the pureblood wizard had any interest in the Muggle sport. And Harry had been amazed when he was invited along to play once. And the game had grown on him. He liked the solitude it brought. It was simply him against the course and he found it to be an incredible personal challenge every time. He loved it. He and Titus often tried to play whenever there was a lull in the quidditch schedule.

They hadn't really talked about anything but golf while on the course, taking advice on what shot to hit and where to hit it. It was refreshing to focus on something other than life and quidditch. And Harry really appreciated the couple of hours that he didn't have to think about the rest of his life. It was a welcome respite.

After they finished the stopped at the clubhouse and decided to have a couple of beers and split a pizza. It wasn't very good, but it was food and they were both hungry. A Muggle soccer match was on the television in the bar and they watched it in silence as they ate. It wasn't until they were nearly finished that Harry finally spoke up.

"Davis asked me to be Captain," Harry said quietly. Titus didn't look at him, and didn't respond right away. Instead he took another sip of his beer and seemed to wait a moment to formulate his response.

"Congratulations," he said as he put his beer back on the counter. "I assumed they were going to do something like that when they had you run practices."

"I told him I thought he was a terrible coach and that I didn't want to be the team captain," Harry said carefully.

"You didn't," Titus laughed.

"I did," Harry affirmed.

"How well did that go over?" his friend asked, taking the last piece of pizza.

"Poorly. But he kept his composure. He did turn an interesting shade of red, though," Harry said.

"Wish I could have been in the office for that," Titus laughed.

"Why?" Harry smirked. "You'd just laugh and end up having to run even more laps."

"Beats hitting bludgers at stationary targets a few feet away," Titus commented.

"And catching fake snitches thrown straight at you," Harry agreed.

"What the hell did we get ourselves into?" Titus laughed.

"I don't know. But you're making me really wish you hadn't gotten me drunk and conned me into agreeing to the trade," Harry said.

"Well it's not my fault you're a lightweight," Titus retorted.

"Just because we can't all drink our bodyweight in alcohol does not mean we're lightweights," Harry commented.

"Yes it does," Titus said. Harry just laughed and finished his beer. They ordered another round before Harry changed the subject.

"I'll be honest, I'm more concerned about Gabrielle than I am about the Falmouth Falcons," Harry admitted.

"She seemed to be doing okay," Titus responded.

"Yes, but I suspect it's just shock," he said.

"It's been like four days," Titus said. "Shouldn't she be over shock by now?"

"I have no idea," Harry said.

"Me either," Titus admitted. "But she seemed to be in pretty good shape."

"I guess," Harry said. "It's not like I know how she would normally act, anyway."

"What are you going to do about her?" Titus asked.

"Nothing, I suspect," Harry said. "I just figured she'd want a place to stay for a while to get away from all of it. I'll have Daphne help with the legal stuff and then see if we can't get her situated."

"How long did you offer her to stay?" Titus asked.

"Until her final year at school started," Harry admitted. "If she wants to leave before that, it's up to her."

"So you're going to make me deal with multiple teenage girls for the entire summer?" Titus teased.

"Eva is twenty," Harry responded. He'd have said something about Cora's age, but he wasn't sure what it was.

"I was referring to Gabrielle and her friends," Titus said.

"We're not hosting any of Gabrielle's friends," Harry commented.

"Yet," Titus laughed. "I'm sure they'll want to come visit. Wouldn't you?"

"Probably. But for some reason I have a hard time imagining that their parents will be too thrilled with them staying in a house with Harry Potter and Titus Button," Harry commented.

"Hey, you don't have that bad of a reputation," Titus teased.

"I would be shocked if they wound up spending any deal of time with us," he admitted.

"I'd bet money that she has a friend sleeping over by the end of the week," Titus said.

"Fifty galleons," Harry said.

"Done," Titus agreed.

"Well easiest cash I'll ever make," Harry smirked.

"No, that would be the single game start you needed to activate your contract," Titus responded.

"Touche," Harry responded.

"Where did you stash her, anyway?" Titus asked.

"I didn't stash her anywhere. Eva offered to take her out for dinner and to shop for bedding and what not," Harry explained. "So I assume they're doing that."

"Why would she need to shop for bedding?" Titus asked. "Aren't all the rooms furnished?"

"Apparently everyone doesn't like living in what's essentially a hotel room. I suspect she wants to get some things to make it feel a bit more like her room," Harry said.

"Seems pointless to me," Titus shrugged.

"Just about everything seems pointless to you," Harry commented. His friend just shrugged his shoulders, sipped his beer, and changed the subject.

"Now what are we going to do about the Falcons?" Titus asked.

"Play quidditch and win?" Harry asked.

"But it's not fun," Titus whined.

"We will get used to it," he said. "It's just going to be a matter of time. I suspect that if we keep winning, things will probably be a bit easier."

"I think I'll hate coach Davis regardless," Titus responded.

"Me too," Harry said. "But I've got a plan for that."

"What's that?" Titus asked. He leaned back in his stool and looked over at Harry, for the first time since they started the conversation he seemed legitimately interested in it.

"Do you know Davis's career record?" Harry asked.

"Hell no," Titus responded. "Who was he even with before Falmouth?"

"Three years with the arrows, five with the Pride, then he had ten more with the Magpies as an assistant coach and started off as a chaser coach for the Catapults," Harry explained.

"How do you know that?" Titus laughed.

"I read the media guide this afternoon. I was curious," Harry explained.

"Well what's his career record?"

"Well let's just say he has a three-ninety-two winning percentage," Harry commented.

"Ouch," Titus said.

"Indeed," Harry said.

"So you're plan is to what?" he asked.

"Suck up to Lunfrey for a bit and convince him that it is in his best interest to not keep Davis on staff," Harry admitted.

"That's cold," Titus laughed. "Why weren't you in Slytherin?"

"Draco Malfoy irritated me on the train and I decided I wanted no part of the entire house," Harry admitted.

"So that little cock cost me the chance to experience teammate Harry Potter so much sooner?" Titus joked.

"Yes, yes he did," Harry laughed.

"I knew I hated him," Titus commented.

"Me too," Harry said.

"But will sucking up to Lunfrey help our cause?" Titus asked.

"Probably not. But he is writing the checks. And I'll be really subtle about it. It's not like I'm just going to say fire him or I'll exercise the opt out in my contract for next year," Harry commented.

"But that would probably work," Titus laughed.

"It'll only work if we win and he has incentive to bring me back," Harry said.

"I don't anticipate winning being a problem," Titus commented.

"That's because you're a cocky bastard," Harry said. "But I had to essentially play chaser and catch the snitch to beat the catapults. So I'm not as sold on that as you are."

"What you can't do that every match?" Titus laughed.

"No. I can't," Harry said bluntly.

"Well maybe if we wind up losing a couple that will sway Lunfrey's decision," Titus said.

"I hate losing," Harry said and Titus just laughed.

"Me too," he said. "But you don't seem confident in us winning, so just saying."

"I know," he said. "Either way I suspect I'm going to have to have a conversation with Lunfrey about the captaincy. I'll see what I can bring up then."

"You really don't want it?" Titus asked quietly.

"I really don't," Harry admitted. "I don't want to be responsible for anything more than catching a snitch."

"Really?" Titus laughed.

"Yes," Harry said. "I just like flying around and doing my own thing. Having to worry about the rest of the team and call plays and all of that. Ugh. That's way too much effort for me to put in. And seekers make terrible captains anyway, we're always too focused on the snitch to really pay attention to the rest of the play."

"Uh-huh," Titus laughed. "Because you never really have any clue what's going on in the game."

"Never do," Harry teased.

"I wish I didn't pay attention and had half a clue of what was going on like you do," Titus teased. Harry just smiled a bit and finished his beer.

"Well I have to work on my excuses for Lunfrey," Harry admitted.

"That's what they call it now?" Titus teased. "I know seekers never really admit anything is their fault. But just lining up excuses?"

"Hey, it works for us," Harry said.

"I guess it does. I wish they abolished the position back in the eighteen hundreds like they were going to," Titus scoffed. Harry laughed a little bit.

"I wouldn't mind chasing," he said thoughtfully.

"And I wouldn't mind having more excuses to hit bludgers at you in practice," Titus admitted. He finished his beer as well.

"Another round?" Harry asked as the bartender walked over toward him.

"Nah, check," Titus said, more to the bartender than Harry. After the older man moved to the register to ring up their bill he continued. "I'm tired from all the running and I'm going to go home and crash." Harry nodded. He knew most of that was an excuse. He'd seen Titus run a lot faster and a lot further than just some laps on a quidditch pitch. And he knew that they had a match the next day and Titus never really drank that heavily before they were expected to play.

"Sounds like a good idea," Harry said. The bartender returned and Titus paid simply because it was his turn. They always took turns whenever they went out. And a few moments later they were on their way back to their Falmouth home.

The Falcons beat the Pride of Potree. But it was not a good match. Coach Davis had instructed Harry to focus on the snitch, rather than to support the chaser line. And so Harry did. The match had started out okay. Eva won the draw and diced through the Pride's chasers before hitting Cora with a beautiful pass right in front of the hoops. The young Fin scored easily.

The Falcons even managed to keep possession for a while. Evan, Ben and Cora played well enough together. But the Potree chasers overmatched them eventually, with some help from their seeker and beaters.

Harry simply floated above the action, taking in the match and obeying coach Davis. He hated doing it. He felt like he spent too much time just watching the match rather than helping our or looking for the snitch. He could hear Davis yell up at him whenever he moved toward the offensive zone. So he floated above the center of the pitch and watched.

It was painful. He especially hated the parts where Jordan Wall was completely exploited on defense. Titus flew over to help out on multiple occasions and Wall didn't seem to know how to react. He simply deferred to his much more experienced teammate.

Harry winced and fought the urge to pull a McLaggen and just take the bat from Wall. He hated playing beater, only ever resorting to it in the case of practice scrimmages when injuries limited others, but he was pretty sure he was better than the recent Hogwarts graduate.

He couldn't help but wonder if Jordan knew someone. Or was drafted as a favor to someone or another. He shook his head wondering just what Lunfrey and the scouts for the Falcons had seen in the player, who now just looked skittish and confused.

Of course, it did usually take time to adjust to professional quidditch. He remembered how bad he was in his first couple of starts with the bats. But adjusting was part of playing professionally. Harry hoped the kid would be able to do it.

Coach Davis called a time out after Titus again filtered over to Wall's territory on the pitch and attempted to break up a Pride rush. Unfortunately Titus was assailed by both bludgers a moment later and the Pride's chasers just darted past him as he dodged out of the way for an easy score.

Harry floated over toward the rest of his teammates during the stoppage of play. But he didn't gather around the coach like they did. Instead he just surveyed the pitch, looking for any sign of a glint of gold and hoping that he could end the match shortly after play resumed. He wouldn't be that lucky.

He was close enough, though, that he could hear coach Davis yelling. It was an odd sort of experience. In Ballycastle, their old coach almost never called a time out. He relied on Titus to make the decisions as to when the team needed a stoppage.

And the coach very rarely even spoke during the stoppages. It was always either Titus going over specific plays, or Jeremy Stretton, a veteran chase, who would speak to the team during those stoppages. They were a more focused affair. Harry shook his head, wondering to himself if he should just take the C as a method of shutting Davis up. But from what he could tell of the man's coaching style, he would probably just be expected to agree with everything Davis said and not ever express an opinion.

And that was certainly not a mess Harry was about to get himself into.

The Falcons were even more skittish after play resumed. And it wasn't long before the Pride had them completely on the defensive. Harry was a little impressed with Cora Toivanen. She was the only one of their chasers playing anything that resembled a solid defensive game.

Eva and Ben were both known for being offensively focused. And it was being exploited as they couldn't get the quaffle out of their defensive zone. Harry shook his head from high above the pitch, finding the entire match ridiculous. The Pride was a mediocre team and they were completely handling the Falcons, without any sort of difficulty.

Harry knew that all he could do was focus on the snitch as the score became more and more ridiculous. The Pride seeker wasn't even bothering to worry about him, because he wasn't doing anything. He wondered just how confused his opposite was, given that the scouting report on Harry was not that he would sit around and wait for the snitch.

Eventually though, he grew overly frustrated with the situation. And thankfully, at that moment, behind the Pride's hoops, he saw a glimmer of gold. He cut down quickly, ahead of the Potree seeker whom reacted immediately to his movement as he joined the rush.

Harry signaled Cora quickly and she tossed the quaffle at him as he sped off down the pitch. He relayed it quickly to Eva, who threw it back to him after both Potree beaters sent bludgers her way. He swerved hard toward the hoops and tossed the quaffle up in the air, intending mostly to distract the opposing seeker.

He heard the bell that indicated a goal was scored and smirked a little bit to himself as he cut around the Potree hoops and smothered the snitch, which never even seemed to notice he approached.

Harry punched the air twice and looked over toward the scoreboard. 180-160 Falcons was not a reassuring sight. But it was a win, and the Falcons desperately needed a win. Cora flew into him, giggling and shouting about a brilliant assist on the final goal, but Harry wasn't paying any attention to that.

Instead he could only think about how empty the victory felt. He handed the snitch to the official without even thinking about it, and floated back down to the pitch before wandering toward the locker room. Davis tried to say something to him, but he wasn't listening.

Never had a quidditch victory felt empty. In fact, they were usually quite the opposite. Even the throwaway games well after the Bats had clinched a playoff berth and were simply playing out the rest of the season had felt more exciting.

Harry pressed his lips together and frowned to himself as he figured out why he didn't feel anything. He didn't care. In Ballycastle he'd loved his teammates, and his coach, and the fans. Whenever he flew for the Bats he felt like he was flying for the entire city. But here, in Falmouth, he felt like a mercenary and nothing more.

He wondered if that would change, the more he played here. But even now the stands were only partially full, despite the supposed interest generated from Lunfrey's megatrade. And he didn't feel like he was really a member of the team.

Could that have been because he hadn't stood up for Titus? Maybe. He knew he disliked Davis. But he couldn't tell if he felt like an outsider purely because he usually felt like an outsider, or because he'd only been here for a couple of days. He just shook his head and moved back to the locker room to start to change.

The rest of his teammates filtered in pretty shortly after. The mood was far more festive than after their last win. Someone turned on some music. Harry suspected, judging from the song selection, that Eva was the one responsible. There was more talking and everyone just seemed happier. Harry suspected he was the only one who noticed Davis duck into his office without a word.

It didn't take him much time to change into his street clothing. But he didn't leave immediately. He waited to see if Titus wanted to go out with the rest of the team. Cora and Eva were going to try some new bar. Harry wasn't in the mood to tag along, but he would if it turned into a team activity.

Moments later Derek Lunfrey stepped into the locker room.

"Well done! Well done! Well done!" he yelled. The chatter almost immediately stopped and the players all just looked at him.

"Two in a row," he continued, smiling sheepishly. "And we go to Chudley this weekend with a very good chance of stringing together three in a row! Exceptionally well played! I look forward to watching you for the rest of the year!" And Harry just looked around.

Eva, sitting next to him, was busy with her hair and not paying any attention to the man. Titus was focused on his bat, going through a maintenance ritual with it. Harry could tell that his friend wasn't putting forth that much effort into it.

But the rest of the Falcons were all staring intently at him. Harry was reminded of students in potions class, afraid of irritating Professor Snape. The happy atmosphere vanished, too. Instead everything was just tense. Lunfrey kept talking. But Harry just stood up and made sure all his belongings were organized in his locker before he stood and started to walk toward the exit of the locker room.

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter," Lunfrey said after a moment, looking a little bit shocked.

"Yes?" Harry asked. He didn't mention that he didn't really like being called mister Potter as it just made him think he was back at school. Typically quidditch coaches and officials just called him by his last name without any sort of title.

"I am speaking," he said.

"I can tell," Harry said. Harry heard Titus chuckle a bit under his breath. One of the chasers, or perhaps Foster, the keeper, gasped.

"Don't you want to listen to what I have to say?" Lunfrey said. Harry paused and pressed his lips together, as if he was thinking about the owner's comments.

"No," he said after a moment. And then he just stepped out into the bowels of the stadium and moved toward the player's exit.

Sadly, he was met by a gaggle of reporters, who each looked fairly surprised Harry had emerged so early. They all immediately started yelling questions. After a few moments he just held up his hands.

"Can't you interrogate the rest of the team?" he asked. "I feel like I haven't slept in a week and I really just want to get home and crash."

"Five minutes?" one of the reporters asked. Harry recognized a few of them. They were all, at the very least, sports writers for various periodicals. Harry heard the Falcons locker room door open behind him and saw Derrick Lunrey step out and look at him. The man looked furious so Harry just turned back to the reporters and did the only thing he could think of. He nodded and pointed at one of them randomly.

"Any comments on tonight's match?" the man he pointed at asked.

"The Pride played a tough game. We were lucky to get out of it with a win," Harry said, switching effortlessly into 'quotable' mode.

"What was the strategy behind your passive play tonight?" a female reporter asked.

"Beats me," Harry said. "Wasn't my idea." And with his non-committal answer each reporter started writing furiously.

"Care to elaborate?" the reporter asked.

"I played the game how coach Davis wanted me to play the game. I'm not sure why he felt it was the best way to utilize me out there tonight. But we got a win out of it so I can't really complain."

"But a few more minutes and the snitch catch would have likely been irrelevant," Robert Graves, the reporter Harry'd spoken to in Romania commented.

"Maybe," Harry said. "But you never know what the rest of a match will hold. We'd made some adjustments during the time out. I think the momentum would have changed eventually."

"Any thoughts on the Falcons's playoff chances?" a different reporter asked. Harry paused. He'd already given them one quote they could run with that would reflect poorly on the team, he wasn't sure if he should give another in the same interview. He figured, though, that Harry Potter didn't do things halfway.

"Playoffs?" he laughed. "There's a lot of work to do before that. We're what, twelfth in the league?"

"Eleventh with the win tonight," one of the reporters commented. "Chudley, Wimbourne and Caerphilly are worse."

"Well there's a lot of season left," Harry shrugged, attempting to sound as noncommittal as possible. "I suppose we have a chance."

"You don't sound too confident," the first reporter asked.

"Well we're not a team," Harry said, and the scribbling resumed in earnest. "It's just seven people flying around occasionally doing something together. There's no teamwork and you don't win championships with individual efforts."

"A bit harsh, don't you think?" Graves asked. "Eva and Cora seemed to have some good chemistry. Although Wall and Button on the backend looked weak. We all know an exceptional seeker and a quality keeper can be all the difference."

"We'll see," Harry said with a fake smile. "I know I'll certainly try. But we may be too far down at this point to contend this season. Is that all?" After a moment of thought the reporters agreed it was and Harry walked off toward the exit.

He felt bad almost immediately. He knew his teammates would emerge from the locker room and be forced to answer questions about what he'd just said. And they'd feel blindsided and betrayed. But if Lunfrey let Titus, or Eva for that matter, talk, everything would be fine. He suspected, though, that the owner would be the first to know just what he said. And he also suspected that Lunfrey would do everything in his power to make sure that the reporters did not speak to another Falcon that evening.

The next couple of days passed quickly. Harry only paid a little attention to media furor surrounding his quotes that appeared in the paper the next day. Eva and Titus hadn't asked him about them. Although he assumed that both of his friends were curious. Titus, however, was probably savvy enough to figure out his reasoning.

The day after the match he'd excused himself to London with some excuse he couldn't even remember a few days later. But neither Titus or Eva had questioned him. He wasn't sure he'd have answered them anyway. When he arrived home that evening he'd chatted briefly with Gabrielle, who'd been sitting in the living room with Titus and Eva. They were watching a quidditch broadcast, she was reading a textbook and, Harry assumed, working on her summer assignments.

He'd chatted with them briefly before going to bed. He'd slept in far longer than he anticipated. But he needed the rest. He felt much closer to human when he finally awoke.

The next day he'd found Gabrielle using the floo, chatting with one of her friends in Paris. He didn't interrupt her, as he assumed it was a good sign. She seemed far more animated and positive than she had before.

Seeing her that morning, though, made him remember a promise he'd made and he sent a note off to his agent. And that's what he was dealing with later that evening.

"You know, Potter," Daphne Greengrass said quietly. They were seated outdoors at a Falmouth café, spread around the metal table were stacks and stacks of paperwork. She had a pen in her hand, another in her ear and was reading one of the papers. "I didn't think any aspect of our 'lunch for work, dinner for fun' arrangement was confusing." She nibbled a bit on the end of the pen in her hand as she switched to the next page.

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "But then again, I didn't think any aspect of 'no-trade clause' was confusing, either."

"You waived that, not me," Daphne commented snottily.

"You should have advised me to, well, not do that," Harry nodded knowingly. He took a sip of iced tea and went back to looking through the paperwork.

"If you recall, I did," Daphne said. "I told you that you would find Derrick Lunfrey to be a sanctimonious ass."

"I don't recall sharing my opinion with Mr. Lunfrey with you," Harry said.

"You haven't," Daphne commented.

"So what makes you think I detest him?" Harry asked.

"I know him and I know you," Daphne said.

"How do you know Derrick Lunfrey?" Harry asked.

"Marketing stuff, mostly. And he's flooed me every day since the trade," Daphne explained.

"Do I want to know why?" he asked.

"Probably not," she said. And Harry didn't press from there. It wasn't really that hard to figure out what Lunfrey would have wanted with either of her two main clients.

"Thanks for meeting me on short notice," Harry said, flipping the page he was reading too.

"Oh, no problem," Daphne responded amiably. "It's not like I have a social life or anything."

"And your Friday plans were?" Harry asked.

"Go clubbing with Tracey and Pansy," Daphne said.

"How positively Muggle of you. I didn't think you proper pureblood ladies degraded yourself in that manner," Harry laughed.

"I seem to recall you enjoying when I degrade myself," Daphne commented.

"Contrary to what you may think, I'm not a proper pureblood lady," Harry commented.

"Filthy halfbreed," Daphne muttered under her breath.

"At least I'm paying you," he smiled. "And I know how much you love legal jargon."

"Oh yes," she said tonelessly, "I get so hot reading all this."

"At least I'm paying you?" Harry suggested.

"You have no idea," Daphne responded.

"I just hope I can afford it," he teased.

"You can. But only just. Especially if your escalators don't kick in for total snitch catches and making the playoffs," Daphne responded dryly.

"So I should work on that," Harry commented.

"Yes," Daphne said.

"Speaking of my contract," Harry started.

"No," Daphne said.

"What?" Harry responded, legitimately surprised that she stopped him in mid-sentence.

"I'm kind of busy with all of the other crap you decided to bring to dinner. So I don't really feel like listening to any complaints you have with your contract," Daphne said defensively. Harry supposed he deserved that a little bit, given that he'd made a snippy comment about his no-trade clause early in the conversation.

"I don't have any complaints about my contract," Harry admitted.

"Good," Daphne said.

"I was just wondering," he started and Daphne groaned. But she looked up from what she was reading to stare at him, patiently waiting for his question. "If all the specific details remain the same going forward.

"Yes," she responded quickly. "The only detail that changes is the signature on your checks."

"I don't get checks," Harry said pointedly.

"You do," Daphne responded. "They're just sent straight to the goblins."

"I see," Harry commented. Daphne was silent for a moment.

"My turn," she said and looked at him.

"For what?" he asked.

"Question asking."

"What?"

"I can sort of understand how you got the stuff for Ron and Hermione. And I guess George makes sense too. But how the hell did you get all the paperwork for the Delacours?" she asked, gesturing to the specific piles as she worked through the copies he'd acquired.

"I'm Harry Potter," he laughed. "I just walked in and asked for copies and I got them," he said.

"There's no way that worked," Daphne commented. But Harry just gestured to the papers.

"And yet here we are," he said.

"Why are you more interested in the Delacours than your friends," Daphne commented. Harry shrugged.

"Because I suspect lawyers will approach you about anything pertaining directly to me and you'll just take care of it for a modest fee. But I told Gabrielle that I would see what I could find out about her parents estate and help her with all of that," Harry said.

"And you speak to sixteen year old witches much?" Daphne asked.

"When they're living with me, yes," Harry responded dryly.

"So that's why you haven't invited me over to see the new house yet," Daphne teased. "Although as your representation I'd have to warn you that shacking up with a teenager may end up reflecting poorly on you."

"Good chance of that," Harry agreed.

"I take it you ran into her at the wedding that wasn't?" Daphne asked.

"Yeah. I offered to have her spend the summer with us. I thought being out of France may help her. She seemed a bit depressed the last couple of days. But she was on the floo with her friends this morning and seemed happier," Harry explained.

"Only you would think that a sixteen year old girl should move in with Harry Potter, Titus Button, and Eva Larson," Daphne scoffed.

"We're not that bad," Harry laughed.

"You're not that bad," Daphne agreed. "But Titus and Eva are."

"They won't do anything with her," Harry said.

"And you know this how?" Daphne commented.

"Because I'd kill them," Harry said with a jovial smile.

"That would probably be good enough motivation," Daphne agreed.

"So what did we find out about the Delacour estate," Harry asked.

"That it is very professionally structured and that after paying for the Delacour family home, Gabrielle has enough money to live comfortably for the next couple of years while she gets situated," Daphne said. "I could go into more detail than that, but I suspect some solicitors will find her soon enough and take care of that."

"I'm hoping to avoid that," Harry said.

"And just how do you plan on doing that?" Daphne asked. Harry just smiled at her. Daphne stared at him for a few moments, tilting her head so she appeared to be looking down her nose at him.

"No," she said sternly.

"Please?" he asked with the most charming smile he could muster.

"Damn it, Harry," Daphne groaned. "I'm your agent. I'm not your own personal attorney."

"Please?" he asked again, frowning.

"What do you want me to do," she sighed.

"When I'm in Chudley this weekend I'd like you to take her out to lunch, do some shopping and otherwise girly things, help her with anything she needs and explain the finances and estate and what not to her," Harry said. Daphne crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him for a few moments.

"You're buying, I assume?" she asked.

"Naturally," Harry nodded.

"And you really think she'll understand all of the legalese and what not?" she gestured to the documents.

"Honesty, Daph, do you think I have half a clue of what you're talking about on a given day?" Harry asked.

"No," she said bluntly.

"Well I think someone should at least attempt to go over it with her. It's always better to know than not know. And she seems clever," Harry said.

"Because you've spent hours with her, right?" Daphne responded.

"In Romania, yes, pretty much two full days," Harry said. "And then here or there since then. I'm mostly just letting her do what she wants."

"Which is what so far?" Daphne asked.

"At this point? It's been mostly reading and schoolwork and asking impertinent questions to Titus," Harry said.

"Like what?"

"Well my favorite was 'having to do more work is not a good enough reason to hate your new team,'" Harry laughed.

"That's not a question," Daphne said.

"No. But the way he just stared at her after she said it was hilarious."

"I see," she took out her wand and rid the table of most of their paperwork as their waitress started to approach with their food. They hadn't ordered much, just a couple of appetizers to split. After a few moments of eating in near silence Daphne spoke up.

"So I'm going to get compensated for showing your perspective girlfriend a good time this weekend?" Daphne teased. Harry just shook his head but didn't dignify her with a direct comment.

"I was hoping you'd do it because you loved me," Harry said. Daphne crossed her arms and looked at him.

"Uh-huh," she said with an eyebrow raised.

"But I suspect your hourly fee would be just fine," Harry sighed. She smiled at him.

"That's more like it," she said. And they continued eating for a few moments, until someone spoke up from behind him.

"Mr. Potter!" a familiar voice spoke loudly. Harry reached for one of the leftover pens, suspecting he'd have to sign something in a moment. He turned to look at the source. His almost groaned when he saw the man.

"Mr. Lunfrey," Harry said quietly. Derrick Lunfrey walked over to their table. He spared a quick glance at Daphne, before sitting in an open chair.

"You are a hard man to find, Mr. Potter," the owner of the Falcons said. Harry just stared at him. Lunfrey was certainly younger than Harry thought most owners would be. He was perhaps only ten to fifteen years older than Harry. He had dark hair and was very thin.

"Not really," Harry said.

"I've been trying to get a hold of you for over a day," Lunfrey said.

"My agent usually knows where to find me," Harry said, gesturing to Daphne.

"He's at a café in Falmouth enjoying a dinner date," Daphne responded.

"Cute," Lunfrey said in a tone that indicated he thought it was anything but. Harry had a feeling the man wasn't about to get to the point anytime soon without some prodding.

"Did you need something?" Harry asked. "I am in the middle of something at the moment."

"We need to discuss this," Lunfrey said. He tossed a paper down onto the table. Harry looked at the lead headline. It read _Potter: Falmouth Falcons are not a team._ Harry just shrugged.

"I thought I made my opinion pretty clear," Harry said. He picked up the paper and skimmed the article. "Yeah, see, it's right there."

"That's the point, Mr. Potter," Derrick Lunfrey said.

"Then we're on the same page," Harry smiled. "And I don't see what we have to discuss."

"I can't have one of my players trashing the team in the local media," Lunfrey said. "From now on you are only allowed to talk to reporters when I am present."

"Okay," Harry laughed, rolling his eyes. Even Daphne giggled a little bit under her breath.

"Miss Greengrass, do you mind?" Derrick Lunfrey said. "I think this is something Mr. Potter and I need to discuss in private."

"Yes I mind," Daphne commented. "I get off on this."

"What?" Derrick looked alarmed at Daphne's statement.

"Well you see I have to be nice to people like you constantly because it's in my clients best interest. Harry doesn't have to be nice to you. So I'm going to live vicariously through him for the next few moments," Daphne said.

"I'm simply going to discipline one of my employees," Lunfrey started. Harry suspected he was going to say more, but Daphne interrupted him.

"Good luck," she said, and gestured for him to continue talking to Harry. The owner just looked at him uncomfortably. Harry suspected this wasn't how he expected the conversation to go.

"As I said," Lunfrey said. "You will only do your media availability through me, after matches."

"Yeah, I just don't see that happening," Harry said.

"Mr. Potter, this is not up for discussion. I cannot have one of my players abusing the rest of the team in the media," Lunfrey spat.

"But your coach gets to do it during practices and matches?" Harry said.

"Ralph Davis is an incredibly bright quidditch mind. His methods are proving to work," Lunfrey snapped.

"And he's really done quite well for himself here in Falmouth, hasn't he?" Harry commented.

"We've lacked the talent…" Lunfrey started.

"Oh I don't know. You sure spent a lot on talent before," Harry said. Lunfrey just paused and glared at him.

"Mr. Potter you don't really want to get into this argument with me," Lunfrey said.

"You started it," Harry responded childishly. But Lunfrey wasn't really paying attention to him for a moment. He was instead pondering Harry's remark about talent. Derrick had spent a great deal of time with Ralph Davis. He thought the man an exceptional coach. He'd thought his personnel moves had always simply backfired.

"Look, Mr. Potter, perhaps you could help. I would like to make you the team Captain. I think you are exactly what Falmouth needs. And it would certainly help with possible marketing opportunities. You are woefully under promoted."

"Stop," Harry said.

"What?" Lunfrey asked, looking startled. Harry suspected that most quidditch players saw being the face of any of the products produced by the Lunfrey Food Company to be a blessing, and the man was not used to being turned down.

"Daphne? How many companies in the last six months have asked me to do some sort of marketing campaign with them?"

"Fifty-two," Daphne responded without missing a beat. Harry nodded.

"How many of those did you think I should have done?"

"Eight," she responded again.

"And how many did I agree to do?" he asked.

"Two," she said.

"Sensing a pattern?" Harry asked Derrick.

"That your agent does not always agree with marketing representatives about the value of Harry Potter?" Lunfrey asked.

"Close," Harry said. "But I was going for that I don't want to be on the next box of Cheery Owls."

"But it's a fantastic opportunity," Derrick argued.

"Don't care," Harry said. Lunfrey looked shocked. "I do all the marketing that I want. And frankly, if I was interested in something like that, I'd approach you. As Daphne just said, I really don't have a hard time finding people interested in using me for marketing. And I don't want to be the Captain. I already told Davis that. As I really don't appreciate how he treats the players and I do not wish to be associated with that."

"As Captain you'd have a much larger say in the day to day running of the team," Lunfrey countered.

"That's nice. Titus knows more about quidditch than me and has much more experience as Captain," Harry said.

"Titus is not the image the Falcons would like to display," Lunfrey countered.

"That's nice," Harry said. "It boils down to this, Derrick, I'm not going to captain your quidditch team. I'm not going to market any of your products. And I'm going to say what's on my mind with reporters." Harry liked how the owner winced when he used his first name. So he decided he'd keep doing it.

"I think, Mr. Potter, you should think about who is paying your salary," Lunfrey said. Daphne started to giggle. Harry just smiled.

"Tell me, Derrick, do you want to win a league title?" Harry asked.

"Of course," he said. Harry nodded.

"And the best way to do that is to alienate two of the, if not the two, best players in the league? Or would you rather go down as the general manager who decided to trade away any semblance of a future for his team for a mediocre chaser who can't play defense, a beater who wanted out of the city, and the seeker who quit?" Harry asked.

"You are contracted to play quidditch for the Falmouth Falcons, Mr. Potter. You cannot simply quit. I would take you to court," Lunfrey threatened.

"I suspect you'd try. But, I also suspect you haven't read my contract. And frankly, Eva's entry-level deal ends at the end of the season. And sure, you have Titus for three more years regardless, but-"

"And you signed an identical contract to Titus. I am not going to allow immature players to run my team!" Lunfrey interrupted.

"Close," Harry said. "Except mine includes a player opt-out clause that I can activate at the end of any season." Lunfrey's face fell.

"What?" he said, looking exasperated.

"Yeah. I had Daphne put it in when I was worried about media scrutiny and disliking reporters. I never thought I'd have the cause to use it. But it boils down to the team is never allowed to reveal my location during a personal trip. Which you've already violated, giving me grounds to use the clause," Harry said. "So really, it's a distinct possibility that next season, Eva Larson and Harry Potter are not members of the Falmouth Falcons. In fact, I can assure you that if my first week here is any indication of how you run things, I will not be returning next season."

"Mr. Potter, I," Derrick started, but Harry cut him off.

"That's not to say I may not wind up loving Falmouth. And really, I don't want to ruin your team. But I am not going to be the Captain. I have no interest in it and I would be terrible at it. I am not going to market anything that you are involved in that is not the Falmouth Falcons," Harry said. He paused for a moment. If he was honest, he only did it so Lunfey would try to talk and he could cut him off again.

"Mr. Potter," Lunfrey started.

"And really, in my four years with Ballycastle, I think I spoke to Norm Wilder, the owner, for maybe a combined fifteen minutes. And I think probably about the same with the general manager. You don't need to be giving post game speeches and acting like you're a player.

"You're the GM. You're the head honcho. You can run the team whenever you see fit. But you've had talent for the last five years and underachieved every year. And now you have two of the best players in the world telling you that your coach is incompetent. Maybe you should take that into consideration.

"I get it that you probably view the game as a business. And I understand that you have to. But this team has a solid, talented, core and just got handled by the Pride because there's no chemistry, no unity, and no kinship. Alienating the players isn't going to help with that," Harry finished. He reached for his tea and took a sip of it.

"Mr. Potter I must apologize for the slip about Romania. I did not think that the reporters would follow you there. It just slipped out when someone asked why you missed a practice," Derrick looked a little shell-shocked. Harry just smiled.

"Hey I get it, no harm done," he said. His disinterest just made Lunfrey look even more surprised. "I just ask you be as careful with the media as you expect me to be."

"And I will take your views on the team into consideration," Lunfrey said diplomatically.

"That's good," Harry said. "Because, mate, I can't guarantee you a title. But I can guarantee that if we don't turn into a team, bond as a team, there's no chance we'll even make the playoffs, much less compete for a title. We're in too deep of a hole as is."

"Do you really think that?" Lunfrey asked. And for a moment, he just looked like a concerned quidditch fan. And Harry thought that, maybe, just maybe, he could grow to appreciate the owner. "I thought the chemistry would carry over from Ballycastle."

"It does for Eva, Titus, and I. But Davis doesn't let us play as a team much. It's all been individual drills and Davis yelling at Titus about everything. I'll tell you right now that's not the best way to motivate him."

"I will take that into consideration as well," Lunfrey said. Harry just nodded.

"Great. Now if you excuse me, Mr. Lunfrey, I am on a date, and I do need to pack for Chudley. We can continue this conversation next week, if you like."

"I think I would, Mr. Potter," Lunfrey said hesitantly. Harry suspected he'd have to be on his guard around the man. At least until they won a few more games. But for now, things seemed settled.

Once the owner left, Daphne spoke again.

"I've never seen you act like that," Daphne said. "Are you sure you don't want to negotiate your next contract yourself?"

"Positive," Harry laughed. "Way too time consuming."

"I told you that you didn't like him," Daphne teased. Harry just shrugged.

"I don't mind him. I just don't think he really knows how to run a quidditch team. He's never been involved with the sport past being a fan and inheriting the team. He should hire a general manager and focus on being the owner," Harry said.

"Probably," Daphne agreed. "Now how are you going to make up for ruining my night?"

"Still paying you," Harry commented dryly, causing Daphne to laugh.

"Valid point," Daphne sighed.

"But I'll take you to my new house," Harry smiled. "You can meet Gabrielle and the two of you can plan your wonderful day of shopping tomorrow!" Daphne just rolled her eyes but acquiesced and the two of them walked to Harry's Falmouth home.

Author's note: As always thanks for reading and reviewing. I do appreciate it. I am willing to take on another beta for this story, inquiries are often best done through PM and in coherent English.

Also don't expect chapter updates every two days. I'm still a bit shocked this one was done that fast myself.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Zaion Indulias for the beta work on this chapter.

Chapter 7

The Chudley Cannons were terrible. And the Falmouth Falcons were thankful for that. Although Harry hadn't particularly enjoyed his first away game as a Falcon. But, it shouldn't have surprised him, really.

And at the very least, this time he could understand coach Davis's reasoning. They'd left early Saturday for the Sunday matinee. Most of the teams traveled to road matches together. It was just standard practice. The Bats had been the exception to the rule there. Bat policy had been that as long as you were at the stadium three hours before the match, you were good to go.

The Ballycastle Bats had offered team members hotel rooms for away matches, and transportation to the cities, but it hadn't been mandated. Harry had, for his first two years in the league, traveled with the team. But as he became more of a veteran he decided he liked having his own schedule more.

Still, he couldn't complain about having forced team travel. It was both a way for owners to keep track of players, and to force team building. Even Titus hadn't complained about it during the two days.

They had a team meeting in the hotel conference room on Saturday evening. Coach Davis went over the scouting reports on each of the Cannons players and a brief game plan before letting the team go. Harry was glad Lunfrey hadn't traveled with the team, because he suspected he'd have had to listen to the owner give some sort of speech and he really doubted he'd have been able to actually sit through a full one of those.

Eva, Titus, and a few of the other Falcons went to the hotel bar to have a few drinks after that. Davis let them do whatever they wanted. Harry suspected the coach wouldn't have been opposed to the players enjoying a night on the town. And he knew Titus would have probably done just that had he not been worried about having Davis yell at him some more.

The beater attempted to get Harry to join him. But Harry decided that he still felt completely exhausted from the last week and just wandered up to his room. He'd been put in a pretty standard hotel room. He'd turned on the news to see if anything of importance happened that day.

It hadn't. But he assumed as much. The magical news sources were still talking about the Portkey accident and the investigations into what caused it. Harry turned that off and crawled into bed.

The Falcons had an optional team breakfast the next morning. Again, it was simply in the conference room at the hotel. Most quidditch teams offered something of that nature on road trips. Harry often partook in it, purely because it was easier than finding other breakfast options. But this time he slept through it.

When Harry woke he showered before simply putting on a pair of jeans and a Falcon's shirt. He'd keep the athletic shirt on under his uniform, but would change the pants in the locker room. Once dressed, he wandered down to the hotel lobby just a few minutes before the team was scheduled to travel to the Chudley Cannons's stadium. He stood around for a few moments, just waiting for everyone to arrive, before they did indeed travel to the stadium.

Once there, Harry wandered through the bowels of the stadium until he got to the visitor's locker room. He recognized the attendant and greeted him with a handshake.

"It was bad enough that you had to trounce us on the Bats, Mr. Potter," the man in khaki pants and a Chudley Cannons polo said. "But you also had to take away any glimmer of hope of beating the Falcons?"

"Hey, it's anyone's game out there," Harry said with a smile. The man just laughed and let the Falmouth Falcons enter the room. Their equipment had already been laid out by team elves when it was transported to the stadium so Harry just walked to his locker, a large open air cubby with his uniform hanging in it, and broom leaning against one of its walls, and commenced changing. He put on a long pair of athletic pants in Falcons colors, followed by changing into pristine white sox and putting on dark gray and white boots.

The rest of the players were essentially lounging around and getting into their own personal pre-game routines. Harry wandered over to the food spread through the center of the locker room. For a matinee game, the food tended to just be sandwich components. Harry made himself one quickly and sat in his cubby to eat it.

By the time he was done with that he checked the time. It was at the point where the Chudley Cannons acquiesced the pitch to the visiting team for pre pre-match warmups. The real warmup would commence about forty minutes before the match. But from about two hours to that point before, the Falcons were allotted time on the pitch.

So Harry grabbed his broom and wandered out. He was the first Falcon to take the pitch. He just stood on the grass and looked around for a few moments, stretching his arms over his head and running through the Cannons roster in his mind.

After that, he walked over to the rack of quaffles and grabbed one off of it before flying up into the air and looping around the hoops. He wasn't really warming up for any purpose other than killing time. Many players chose not to do anything during this allotted time. But Harry didn't like sitting around. So he started by flying around the hoops and occasionally lobbing a shot at one of them. He would then fly around to the back and catch it.

After about fifteen minutes, Cora Toivanen and Sarah Foster flew out as well. Sara flew up to the hoops and Harry and Cora took turns taking shots at her. Eva and Ben Neal joined them a few minutes later. At that point Harry let the chasers take most of the shots, and just resumed flying around.

After a half hour he returned to the ground and wandered back through the stadium. He exchanged some pleasantries with people he knew in the Cannons's front office. Harry knew a great deal of people in professional quidditch, purely because he was Harry Potter, and he always tried to say hello when he was in town.

If Ron had been alive, he'd have had to stop by the ticket office to make sure his friend had a ticket waiting for him. Harry shook his head, frowning at the fact that his friend wouldn't see him beat his favorite team. But that just turned into memories of Ron begging him to let the Cannons win once. Harry had no intention of ever allowing that to happen. But he stopped thinking about that before his mind focused too much on the Portkey accident. He needed to be focused for the match, he could not let himself be distracted.

He wandered back to the locker room after that and started to focus more on the afternoon match. Titus was sitting on one of the chairs away from the lockers, eating a sandwich and talking to Jordan Wall. Coach Davis was watching them carefully, but Harry didn't take any stock in that.

Instead he moved to his locker and grabbed a small box the elves always left on the top shelf next to his goggles, and wandered into the bathroom. He just stared into the mirror for a few moments before taking off his glasses and slipping the contacts into his eyes. He hated them, but he preferred them to prescription goggles or attempting to wear the glasses under the goggles. He rolled his eyes around, taking a moment to get comfortable, before folding up his glasses and picking up his contacts case and walked back to his locker, putting both items on the shelf.

Next it was time to dress. He always worked from the bottom up, putting on the white and grey leg pads carefully, standing and crouching to make sure they were comfortable, before putting on the light weight chest protector he wore as a seeker. It would have been so much easier to have some sort of shield charm on him while flying, but they were not allowed to have any signs of magic on their person during a match.

Finally, he pulled the jersey over his head, shifting around until it rested normally. He wouldn't bother with his gauntlets or goggles until they were walking on to the pitch for the match itself.

Moments after he finished dressing, the actual pregame warmup began. Harry joined the rest of the team on the pitch and they essentially flew in circles around the hoops, spending about fifteen minutes tossing quaffles at Foster before breaking off and flying around. Harry and Titus floated with Jordan Wall and Russell Jones, the reserve keeper and mostly just talked. On occasion, they'd fetch loose quaffles and toss them back to the chasers and other reserves that warmed up the players.

At this point, too, Chudley Cannons fans started to filter in to the stadium to watch the blaze orange robed players on their team warm-up. As Titus and Russell were snatching loose quaffles toward the end of the warm-up Harry saw a couple of children in Falcons jerseys so he flew over toward them, dragging Jordan with him.

He chatted briefly with the young fans, who mostly stuttered in awe at the situation. Jordan Wall looked incredibly uncomfortable when Harry tried to include him in the conversation, but the more Harry forced him, the better he became. He shook his head a bit as he wondered how a professional player could be so meek. After they each signed a couple of programs the pregame ritual drew to a close and they returned to the locker room.

The next half hour was Harry's least favorite part of professional quidditch. They just sat in the locker room, reviewing rosters and thinking about the upcoming match. In Falmouth, this was a quiet affair. In Ballcastle they'd usually had loud music playing. Harry tapped his foot impatiently and waited to return to the pitch. At least in Ballycastle his locker had been next to Titus's, and the two of them typically talked. But here he sat between Russell Jones, who wasn't in his locker but rather over coaching Sarah Foster on the Chudley chasers, and Eva Larson.

And while he was perfectly able to have a conversation with Eva, she always spent this point reviewing the opposing keeper. He looked over her shoulder at the charts showing the stats on the keeper for the Cannons. She was chewing on her bottom lip as she reviewed it all and Harry figured it was best to not interrupt her.

Coach Davis said something or other to the players. But Harry wasn't paying attention. He was too busy being irritated at waiting for the match to start to focus on what the coach said. Eventually, they moved as a team to the pitch.

The chasers all started to toss quaffles at Foster again. Harry just floated up near the center of the pitch. Moments later Titus joined him. The two of them just simply watched the Chudley Cannons warm up. It was how they'd spent the last few moments before matches for years.

A reporter in Ballycastle once said it was a form of intimidation. That he and Titus simply watched the other team like they knew they were going to win. Harry hadn't had the heart to comment that he was actually going over all the opposing flyers in his head, and thinking about just how each one of them could beat him.

Eventually, the teams lined up and the quidditch match started with an official tossing the quaffle into the air.

And after that, Harry played quidditch and he loved every moment of it. Every second of the two hours and twelve minutes the match took were thrilling to him, but none more than the last few moments while he ran down the snitch.

Beating Chudley 330-120 wasn't as much of an accomplishment as the Falcons's players thought. But it was their first real winning streak in far too long, and the mood in the locker room in the afternoon was rather jovial.

The food spread had been replenished and Harry took a moment, while still in full uniform, to make himself another sandwich and eat it. Eva turned on some music and they mostly just enjoyed the mood. Thankfully, coach Davis didn't come out of his office and Derek Lunfrey hadn't made the trip.

At the Bats they'd been free to leave pretty much at any point they wanted to, but often chose to stay in the locker room for various reasons, whether it was that food was provided, or simply that it was easier to leave after all the fans had left.

Mostly they just hung around for a few hours after matches, slowly changing and working on whatever plans they had. After he finished eating, Harry moved back to the bathroom and took out the contacts, switching back to his glasses. He preferred them and it always felt nice to have them back on.

He debated showering but didn't feel that worked up, so he decided against it. He wandered back into the locker room and proceeded to change back into his street clothing. He was proud of himself for not leering too much at Cora and Eva as they changed, too.

Afterwards they mostly just wound down as a team, laughing and talking about the game. Titus led most of the conversations, and the rest of the Falcons seemed to be a bit nervous about the entire concept. But Titus loosened them up in a hurry.

The two hours they spent in the Chudley visitor's clubhouse passed quickly. They traveled as a team to the portkey terminal and not too long later they were back in Falmouth.

Coach Davis reminded them when their next practice was before he left. After that they all went their separate ways. Most of the players apparated to their homes. Ben and Jordan asked Harry and Titus if they wanted to go to a bar with them. Titus seemed to think about it but Harry waved them off, telling them another time, but that he wasn't feeling well.

Eventually, he and Titus decided to simply walk back home. It didn't take nearly as long as it had taken Gabrielle and Harry just a few short nights earlier.

Harry was surprisingly tired as he wandered into the house. Eva and Cora were already in the living room, watching something, each with a glass of wine in their hand. Titus laughed a bit and made a crack about apparating when they could have simply walked. Both girls ignored him, so he decided to rectify that by joining them.

Harry watched his friends from afar for a moment before wandering upstairs toward his bedroom. He intended to just go in, fall face first on his bed, and attempt to sleep away everything that had been bothering him for the last week. But that didn't matter when he saw Gabrielle's door was open. He couldn't resist but peek in. And the sight surprised him.

The room had completely changed since he'd last seen it. The walls were painted a pale blue and there were a couple of French Impressionist prints hanging on the walls. The room had a more flowery scent to it, and the bed was covered in pale blue blankets and pink pillows. It looked completely transformed. Harry could sense some of the items were merely transfigured or charmed, but that most of them were new.

And on the bed, in their pajamas, sat both Gabrielle Delacour and Daphne Greengrass. They were both in their pajamas, Daphne's consisting of Ballycastle bats athletic shorts and a tank top, while Gabrielle's were a more conservative pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. They sat close to each other, each leaning in so their foreheads were almost touching as they spoke in hushed tones normally reserved for lovers. Judging from how they were both a little flushed, he suspected there was some giggling going on.

"Do I even want to know?" Harry asked from the doorway. Both girls turned and smiled at him. He couldn't help but think that it was nice to see Gabrielle smile a real smile. He didn't think he'd really seen one of those since Romania.

"Probably not," Daphne said. She slipped off the bed and walked over to him.

"Let me guess, whatever joke I just missed was at my expense," Harry said, tilting his head to the side and leaning against the door frame.

"Of course not," Gabrielle responded politely.

"Duh," Daphne contradicted her almost immediately. Harry exchanged a look with each of the girls. Daphne was her usually cheerful self, but Gabrielle was blushing and looking away, obviously self-conscious of being caught in a lie. Even if it was one Harry didn't particularly care about.

"What story this time?" he asked.

"I was telling her how we met," Daphne laughed. Gabrielle nodded. Harry noticed that the young French girl grabbed one of the larger pillows and held it in her lap, effectively covering every inch of her body. Harry found it a bit odd, as her pajamas were perhaps the least revealing thing he'd ever seen on a female.

"I don't remember that being such an entertaining story," Harry laughed.

"Well you don't remember anything to be that entertaining of a story," Daphne laughed.

"I guess," Harry said. He shrugged his shoulders and thought about that first night the agency had sent her to 'recruit' him. He hoped Gabrielle got a watered down version of the events.

"I still have fond memories of you flailing with chop sticks," Daphne said, which caused Gabrielle to giggle. "Even Ellie here said it only took her a couple attempts to get the hang of it."

"They are not that hard," Gabrielle affirmed.

"Yes well," Harry shrugged his shoulders, not able to think of a better defense than that.

"How many rolls did you drop onto your lap?" Daphne asked. Harry resisted the urge to make a snide comment.

"I only remember two specifically," Harry commented, which caused some giggling from both the girls.

"Two more than any self-respecting quidditch stars should ever have fall into their lap," Daphne said.

"Have you ever seen Titus try to eat sushi?" Harry asked.

"Are you implying Titus has any form of self-respect?" Daphne countered.

"Touché," Harry said. And there was some more giggling. After a few moments Daphne just yawned.

"Well, Ellie, the weekend was fun, thanks for that. But since everyone's back I think I'm going to head home," Daphne said.

"Thank you for helping me," Gabrielle said, smiling at Daphne. Harry could only smirk a little bit as Daphne walked toward the door. He knew his agent would charm the girl. After all, it was what she was best at. And Gabrielle certainly needed someone to be friendly with.

"No problem," she said. "I'll floo you about lunch this week."

"I would like that," Gabrielle smiled. Daphne just grinned a bit at Harry as she slipped out of the room. He couldn't help but wonder if the petit French witch noticed that his agent turned right and moved down the hallway, rather than moving left to exit the home. Either way, when his gaze turned back to hers, she wasn't looking at him, but rather just staring off into space.

"So good weekend?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Gabrielle said. "Your agent is very nice."

"Ellie?" he asked, remember her past comments about diminutive forms of her name.

"Daphne thought it suited me," Gabrielle responded, seeming to shrug off the comment.

"I thought you didn't like that one," Harry said. Daphne wasn't in the business of intentionally annoying people. It wasn't a very good trait for keeping people happy. And Harry didn't think she'd go out of her way to annoy the girl.

"I do not mind it," she said quietly. And if she was honest, she did not. But it had been different when Daphne had said it compared to when Mathieu said it. Whenever Mathieu used 'Ellie' rather than 'Elle' it always sounded chiding, like he did not approve of whatever she had said or done. But when Daphne had used it, it had simply sounded friendly.

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Gabrielle said. "She said it was small, cute, and had strength."

"And that it suited you because of that?" Harry asked

"Yes," Gabrielle responded.

"Well she wasn't wrong," Harry smiled at her. The girl blushed a bit and hugged the pillow tighter.

"She thinks I could take Titus," Gabrielle laughed.

"Do I want to know how that conversation came up?" Harry teased.

"Probably not," she admitted, looking away for a moment. Harry decided it was best to not press.

"Well, Titus is a bit of a weakling, so I wouldn't disagree," Harry joked.

"Really?" she giggled.

"Oh yes. I see Daphne helped with the decorating?" Harry nodded, looking around the room.

"She is very good at transfiguration," Gabrielle nodded. Harry laughed a bit. He had some memories of Daphne transfiguring things he'd rather obliviate. But he just nodded.

"Yes, she is," Harry said. "Although I am a bit surprised she's still here."

"Is that bad?" Gabrielle frowned.

"Not really," Harry said. "What did you two do?"

"She took me to lunch and went over what my parents left me," Gabrielle frowned at the memory.

"Was it helpful?" Harry asked. Gabrielle seemed to think about that for a few moments before she decided to answer.

"Yes, it was," she said quietly. "It is good to know. I am not sure what I will do with everything," she paused. Harry sensed she had more to say, but wasn't sure just what she wanted to say, so Harry interrupted.

"Well it isn't something you have to worry about right away," Harry said, attempting to be reassuring.

"I know. Which is nice," Gabrielle frowned.

"What else did you two do?" Harry asked.

"Well we went shopping," Gabrielle said matter-of-factly, as if that concluded any possible conversation about the topic.

"I'm male," Harry said. "That doesn't really seem like something that can take up the rest of the day."

"Well there was all of this," she said, gesturing around the room. "And then we picked up some clothing too. And then Daphne needed some things. And you know, then it was dinner time."

"Go anywhere good?" Harry asked. Gabrielle just shrugged and looked away from him.

"Daphne picked it out. I suppose it was good. But I was not very hungry. I did not eat much," Gabrielle said. Harry almost made a comment along the lines of that seeming to be common for her. But he remembered that it was often not a good idea to comment about eating habits in females, so he decided against it.

"Was sushi the lunch or dinner?" he asked, remembering they were commenting on his inability to properly use chop sticks.

"Lunch," Gabrielle affirmed. Harry nodded.

"Usually a good choice," he said.

"It was," she smiled.

"And after dinner?" Harry laughed.

"Well, we went to see that romantic movie that is out," Gabrielle said. Harry had no idea which movie she was talking about, but he figured that didn't particularly matter.

"Any good?" he asked. Gabrielle just shrugged her shoulders in a diplomatic sort of way.

"I did not mind it," she said. Her tone indicated that she was alone in that opinion.

"And Daphne?" Harry asked.

"She thought the love scenes were terribly unrealistic," Gabrielle blushed and looked away as she spoke. Harry laughed.

"That sounds like Daphne. How about you?" he teased. She just shrugged her shoulders.

"I do not know," she admitted. Harry suppressed a smirk, figuring the last thing the little French girl needed was him laughing at her for that comment as Titus or Eva would have.

"So I assume that didn't get out until rather later?" Harry asked.

"Oui," Gabrielle said. Harry suspected she didn't notice the language shift. She was still blushing about her comments on the movie, wondering just what had possessed her to admit something like that to Harry Potter. Of course, it was not like she was trying to impress him, she thought. She would not have even known how to attempt to impress him. He seemed so docile, and so normal. Even as he just leaned against her doorway and smiled.

"And she decided to come back today?" Harry asked.

"No," Gabrielle said. "I asked her to spend the night." She just kept staring at him. He tilted his head a little bit, as if wondering why she would do that.

"Why?" he asked.

"I do not want to spend the night alone in the house," she admitted. "The thought frightened me."

"It's warded and charmed," Harry said.

"I know," she responded. "But I still did not like the thought of being the only one here."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I should have thought about that."

"It is no problem. You have been more than generous. I did not even think about it until the prospect of it became a reality," Gabrielle admitted. She did not want to tell Harry Potter how she had nearly hyperventilated when Daphne was about to leave. Or how thankful she was that the older woman had agreed to stay.

"I still should have thought about that. Next time if you want to accompany us on a road trip or anything just let me know," Harry said.

"I think I will be okay now," Gabrielle said, wondering if Harry meant that offer how she took that offer. She highly doubted the team would be willing to provide a hotel room for some girl Harry Potter was dragging around.

"Well, let me know if you ever change your mind," he smiled.

"I will," Gabrielle nodded. And she took a moment staring around the room before she spoke up. "I am sorry if I made your room too girly."

"It's your room," Harry laughed. "You can do whatever you like with it."

"I appreciate that. But it is your home," she said. "I do not feel right imposing upon you."

"Honestly, Gabrielle, as long as you want to stay here you're more than welcome to," Harry said. "And if you want to go elsewhere. Just let me know and I'll do whatever I can to help."

"Thank you, Harry," Gabrielle said, looking down at her bed. "I really do appreciate it. Do you want your key back?" She leaned over the side of her bed toward her bedside table where her purse rested. He'd given her his key before he left for Chudley, he just shook his head.

"Nah, go ahead and keep it. I'll just steal Titus's and make another copy," he said. She nodded and rested back on her bed, staring at him, her hair fanning out a bit around her pillow. And suddenly he felt a bit too much like a voyeur.

"How was Chudley?" she asked, politely, as she wormed her way under the blankets and into her bed.

"Good," Harry said. "We won."

"I know. I listened to the match on the wireless. The announcer really admires you," Gabrielle said.

"Dickerson?" Harry asked, referencing the main who typically announced the biggest quidditch matches. For some reason, he doubted Cannons vs. Falcons really constituted the best announcer in the league, but for a mid-season match it wouldn't have surprised him too much.

"I do not know," Gabrielle said. "Maybe?"

"Talks constantly through the match, staccato sentences, mixes in stories?" Harry asked, hoping that did the broadcast legend some justice. But Gabrielle just stared at him.

"I do not know," she repeated. "Maybe?"

"Probably was," Harry said. "He likes me. We've had some good talks at the awards banquet. He thinks that watching Titus and I when we shift into our hybrid rolls is one of the most entertaining things he's ever seen on a quidditch pitch." Harry smiled a bit at the memory. Gabrielle just stared at him, looking lost. She thought that it was probably a very good idea to not bring up quidditch when he was around.

"Uhm," she said carefully. Harry just laughed.

"Yeah, I guess," he said. "Anyway. You look like you're ready for bed. And I'm exhausted. So I'll let you sleep. Fair warning though, pancakes at ten tomorrow, they don't last long with Eva and Titus around, so get up early."

"You consider ten in the morning early?" Gabrielle asked. Harry stared at her for a few moments.

"Yes," he said, smiling a bit at her. She just laughed.

"Good night, Ellie," he said after she finished laughing.

"Good night, Harry," she responded. He closed her door and moved down the hallway to his room.

He heard the shower running when he entered, but that didn't really surprise him. He took a moment to attempt to smell himself. He didn't feel that he really needed a shower, and he was exhausted, so he just pulled off his shirt and changed into a pair of athletic shorts, turned off the lights, and climbed into bed.

Harry was pretty much asleep when he felt the warm body slide in next to him.

"Wow you're tense," Daphne whispered quietly, tracing her hands around his shoulders before sliding them around his waist.

"And really tired," Harry sighed.

"I bet," she said, kissing the side of his neck gently and snuggling up close to him.

"I hope I didn't totally ruin your weekend," Harry sighed quietly.

"Not at all," Daphne said. "It was honestly a little fun. She's not a bad kid. Although she is a bit shell shocked, if anything. She seemed to perk up though the more we did."

"Well that's good," Harry said quietly, not really listening to what Daphne had to say.

"She's too thin though," Daphne said.

"I guess," Harry yawned quietly.

"Roll over so I can go down on you," Daphne said.

"That's nice," Harry responded without moving.

"I thought so," Daphne sighed and just closed her eyes and just spooned with him until they both fell asleep.

Daphne was gone by the time Harry woke the next morning. But that didn't surprise him. She always needed to be into the office early. Or perhaps she just liked to be into the office early, he never really asked. He was only a little but surprised that she didn't wake him when she left.

He tended to have a hard time sleeping through people getting ready around him. He never knew why, but he typically woke up. Half the time he'd just lazily watch them and then go back to bed.

He'd slept a bit later than he'd expected, especially considering he hadn't gone to bed that late the night before. But he felt better than he had in a while. He expected that he wouldn't do much today, as he didn't have practice until tomorrow, and there wasn't another game until Thursday. He wasn't really looking forward to the back to back's in Wigtown and Appleby, but that was just the way the schedule played out. Perhaps it would have been a good day to check out that pool Eva had created and just relax, to clear his from all things related to quidditch.

He showered and dressed and wandered down toward the kitchen. Titus was standing at the counter, skimming the morning paper with a towel draped over his neck. Harry suspected he'd just finished his morning workout.

"Pancakes this morning?" Titus asked without looking up from the paper.

"Yeah," Harry said, moving over toward the kitchen.

"Awesome," Titus said, he took out his wand and set the counter before tucking the stick back into his pocket. "I'm going to go get Eva."

"See if Gabrielle wants any, too," Harry said. Titus just nodded and walked out the back corner of the first level where Eva had picked out the only first floor bedroom. After a brief conversation through the door he headed up the stairs.

He came back down a few minutes later and grabbed some orange juice out of the fridge. Eva gestured for him to fill her glass and he did. Harry just kept making the first batch of pancakes. He served them up, splitting them equally between the two players as he did. Titus started gorging himself pretty much immediately. Eva at least attempted to eat with some decorum. He was about halfway through the second batch when a soft voice spoke.

"Does Harry make breakfast daily?" Gabrielle asked.

"No," Titus said with his mouth full.

"Close to it, though," Eva laughed.

"I see," Gabrielle said.

"Hey, breakfast is important. Should always start the day off with a good meal," Harry argued.

"And that's why Lunfrey will never get to plaster Harry's face onto something," Titus laughed.

"Why is that?" Gabrielle said.

"Because Harry hates cereal," Titus joked.

"I don't hate it," Harry laughed. "I just like eggs and bacon more."

"And they do make other foods, Titus," Eva joked.

"But it's always the cereal that anyone cares about," Titus laughed.

"Anyway," Harry laughed. "I've just never minded making breakfast."

"Where does the pancake tradition come from?" Gabrielle asked, taking a seat next to Titus.

"After road matches in Ballycastle Harry would always invite teammates over for breakfast," Titus explained. "Almost always made pancakes."

"They're easy and everyone likes them," Harry shrugged.

"And we're happy to see that tradition has moved to Falmouth!" Eva giggled.

"But the team is not here," Gabrielle said pointedly.

"Oh well," Titus shrugged. "I'm just amazed that the house came with my own personal chef." Gabrielle looked around for a chef.

"Go to hell," Harry said from the stove. Titus and Eva both laughed. Gabrielle blushed, feeling stupid for not getting the joke immediately. She spent a moment wondering why it was so difficult to keep up with their banter. She could not imagine talking to her friends the way Harry and Titus talked to each other. It seemed like every other word they spoke was an insult, yet they were always just laughing and smiling.

"Seriously, though, that would probably be a good bonding move," Eva said. "I can tell Cora."

"I'll pass," Harry said. And Gabrielle couldn't help but notice that the dark-haired chaser looked a little shocked at the seeker's words.

"What?" Eva laughed. "You're always team first."

"Except when he's bashing us in the local paper," Titus commented, referencing the articles from earlier in the week.

"Except then," Eva agreed with a quick nod.

"I don't want to do anything that can be construed as me taking a leadership role in the team," Harry said.

"Why not?" Eva just looked even more confused.

"Because Lunfrey wants him to be captain," Titus said. Gabrielle could almost feel the venom in his voice.

"Really?" Eva laughed.

"Yep," Harry said.

"I always wanted to be Captain of a team," Eva admitted.

"I didn't," Harry said. "So I'm not going to do anything that makes me seem like I have any interest in leading."

"And that will make Lunfrey not want you to be captain?" Eva asked.

"Probably not. Although I did have a talk with him about it the other day," Harry admitted.

"When was that?" Titus asked.

"He invited himself to dinner with Daphne and I the other day when she wanted to go over the estates from my friends," Harry said. His voice caught a bit at the end of the sentence, but he managed to get it out without there being a crushing pain in his chest, so he figured that was progress.

"What an idiot," Titus muttered.

"That was my thought, too," Harry agreed. "But we hashed a few things out and he scampered off, thoughts of pinning a C on my chest well removed from his head."

"This team needs a captain," Eva said. Harry was gathering up the pancakes to serve the second round. He turned to face them.

"Yes, it does," Harry said, eyeing Titus for a moment before walking over with the food. He gave the top three to Gabrielle, three more to himself, then one to each Eva and Titus. Eva seemed content with that, having not finished her entire first serving yet. But Titus just glared at him.

Gabrielle, though, frowned down at the three pancakes and then, when Harry wasn't looking, lifted the top two off her plate with her knife and fork and dropped them onto Titus's. He looked at her for a moment, before shrugging and digging in.

They ate in silence after that. Gabrielle found she didn't mind. Harry read part of the paper, Titus skimmed the sports, and Eva pretty much just hummed to herself and looked at the sports section over Titus's shoulder. She made a mental note to bring her school books down for meals, as conversations seemed to die off quickly when food motivated the quidditch stars.

She wondered when the best time to ask Harry a question that had been on her mind since the start of the weekend would be. His agent had told her that Harry would not be opposed to it, or even comment if she simply did it. But she wanted to get his permission first. And it was probably best if she asked when his friends were around.

She decided to at least attempt to be helpful, though, as they sat around the breakfast table. She wondered if this would be some sort of routine they would settle into. But after almost finishing her pancake and juice she stood and gathered up her plate and walked over to the sink to wash it off. After a moment Harry spoke.

"You don't have to do that," he said. "It'll take me half the time to do it magically when I'm done."

"I would just like to be helpful," Gabrielle frowned, as she finished cleaning her plate.

"Well I appreciate it, but no need for you to do something that'll take you twice as long," Harry smiled. She just nodded, but put her plate away and moved back to her stool at the breakfast counter.

"Can I ask you something, Harry?" she asked.

"Sure," Harry smiled.

"A couple of my friends were wondering if they could come over this weekend," she said meekly. Harry just shrugged.

"Yeah, sure, I don't care," he said. She was not sure why she felt so relieved. As she had not expected him to mind. But it still felt nice to hear.

"No boys," Titus said as sternly as he could muster. Gabrielle felt the color rising in her cheeks and started to stammer.

"No of course not. I mean, Mathieu would like to come visit, but I understand that you will not be around and I would not want to violate you trust or-" she stammered.

"Relax," Eva laughed. "He was kidding."

"Oh," she said quietly.

"Although he does bring up an interesting point," Harry said, leaning back in his stool and staring at her.

"What is that?" Gabrielle asked without looking at him.

"Just don't do something your parents wouldn't have let you do," Harry said. "Don't make us think that you've betrayed out trust."

"I would not dream of it," Gabrielle said, blushing even more as she spoke.

"Then yeah, sure," Harry said. "Have some friends over. We certainly have the space. Although I would prefer if their parents knew they were staying essentially unsupervised at the home of three professional quidditch players. Last thing I need is angry parents showing up and saying we're corrupting their children."

"My mom came over again?" Eva asked.

"What?" Gabrielle laughed, looking between Harry and Eva.

"Don't ask," Harry said with a smile and a shake of his head.

"Okay," Gabrielle said, agreeing a bit more easily than Harry would have liked. He made a note to tell her it was okay to ask questions and what not around them. And that they would be more than willing to explain the banter and stories if she was actually interested.

"And make sure to invite us if you throw any parties," Titus said, again without looking up from the paper.

"I would not-Oh, you are joking again," Gabrielle said. Titus just nodded. "Anyway, Sophia is seventeen." Gabrielle said, as if in her mind that bit of information mattered. Harry had enough experience with people to know it was nothing more than a tiny number where most adults were concerned.

"Always liked that name," Titus said.

"Didn't you sleep with a Sophie?" Eva asked.

"Sophie Sinclair," Titus affirmed. Both Harry and Eva knew she was a seeker who played for Toronto in the North American leagues. Titus and Harry had met her when they ventured to New York a few years back.

"I am going to go use the floo," Gabrielle said carefully before exiting the kitchen. Harry could sense she was just looking for tactful way to avoid any sort of discussion of the sexual habits of Titus Button. He remembered back a few years ago when he would have attempted the same thing.

"She's adapting well," Eva said, watching her go with a bit more interest than Harry felt was absolutely necessary.

"Indeed," Titus said. He put the paper down and just stared at Harry. Harry took a moment to stare back, then sighed and reached into his pocket and took out a small booklet of Gringotts slips. He wrote 'fifty' on the center of one and then signed it with a flourish before putting it down on the counter in front of his friend before he started to clean up the kitchen.

The weekend came quickly, which Gabrielle was grateful for. She was adjusting well enough to life in Falmouth. She learned quickly that the quidditch players liked to sleep in most days, before going to their afternoon practice, and then going for food and drinks after. It was a fairly easy routine to adapt her life around, even though she did not attend any of the practices.

They would invite her along for drinks almost nightly. Sometimes she would counter that she was not old enough to be out drinking, to which they would just stare blankly at her as if they could not imagine why that mattered. And other times she would agree to go. When she was out with them, no one ever asked her how old she was, or for identification.

Once or twice reporters tried to catch up with her and ask her questions, especially when they noticed that she was standing or sitting very close to Harry Potter. But Harry would simply shoo them away, claiming she was a family friend who was visiting. He said it with such resolve that she did not think the reporters would even attempt to argue with him, for fear of being proven wrong.

She grew to know the members of the team a bit more, too, as they would often come out with her. She liked most of them, they seemed to be nice. Although they were not as easy to get along with as Titus and Eva were.

And she did not like that the other beater consistently tried to flirt with her and even offered to take her back to his place one night. Shortly after the young man made his offer, Titus had taken him aside and spoken to him for a few moments. After that Jordan had disappeared to the other side of the bar and did not speak with her again.

She was not sure what she felt about that. So she spent more time just speaking with the females on the team or Harry. Unfortunately, Eva and Cora always seemed to be in the middle of making some sort of display out of themselves, so she found herself talking a lot to the keeper, Sarah Foster, who she quickly realized she had absolutely nothing in common with.

So mostly she wound up standing next to Harry. She did not mind this, as he was very nice and made sure she was having a good time. But she felt like she was interrupting his life. He seemed to be having more fun than her as he chatted with his friends and drank beer. But he did not seem to mind having her there.

There were even points where he would slide an arm around her shoulders, or her waist, as they were standing somewhere. He did not even seem to notice that he was doing it. But it would be about the only thing she could focus on. If Mathieu had done something of the same nature she would have found it to be annoyingly possessive.

But with Harry something about it seemed to be a natural act. And almost a helpful one. On more than one occasion as she was not paying attention in one of the drinking establishments Harry would pull her out of the way of something, whether it was another patron, a wandering waitress, or simply a mess of some sport. He seemed to always know what was going on around him. She suspected it came with being a professional seeker.

And deep down, she knew that Madame Fay would have argued she should also know what was going on around her. A dancer had to. But she did not. She rarely knew what was going on more than a few feet in front of her face. And part of that bothered her. She could hear her instructor yelling at her to be more observant, telling her how she needed to know everything going on around her as well as ever little position of her body. But she did not know those things. She could only resolve herself to try harder.

Thoughts of Madame Fay just sent a chill down her spine, so she avoided thinking about the dance instructor. She especially avoided thinking about what Madame Fay would say if she knew she was out, and that she had a couple of drinks, and a couple of fried pieces of chicken.

Still, the week passed quickly enough. She was rather sad when her three housemates left on Thursday morning. But it was better than it had been the last time. She did not quite feel as much of a stranger in the empty home that evening. She did manage to get a large chunk of her summer assignments done that evening, as well.

Gabrielle had only felt a little bit bad when she forgot to turn the match on as she was reading. It would have been nice to watch them play, even though she had little interest in the sport.

She did feel better, though, as she caught a local news announcement that indicated the Falmouth Falcons won by a final score of 310-260. There were no comments from any players in the announcement. Just some talk about how they would have to play much better if they expected to contend against Appleby.

After the news ended she went to bed, finding herself excited for the day to come.

Author's Note: As always, thanks for reading and reviewing. I do appreciate the support. The best way to contact me, for whatever reason, and actually receive a response is typically through a private message on the website.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Zaion Indulias for the beta work on this chapter.

Chapter 8

"Sophie!" Gabrielle exclaimed as her friend Sophia stepped from the fireplace. Gabrielle hugged her tightly as she emerged.

"Elle!" the girl laughed. Sophia was a few months older than her, a few inches taller than her, and a fair bit more developed than her. Gabrielle had always been just a little bit jealous of her raven-haired friend.

"How are you?" Gabrielle asked. And it felt nice to be speaking in French. It seemed easier to express herself now that she wasn't tripping over words and hoping pronunciations were correct.

"Fantastic," Sophia responded, also in French. "You look well. I am so sorry about your sister and your parents."

"I know," Gabrielle frowned. "But it is over. There is not much more we can do about it now."

"Still, I feel terrible," Sophia said. Gabrielle just nodded.

"Let me show you to your room?" Gabrielle asked.

"Okay," Sophia said. And the two girls walked to the second floor and picked out one of the bedrooms nearest to Gabrielle's. Sophia walked in and Gabrielle started to help her unpack. It took the better part of an hour, and would have been considerably longer if her friend had been planning on staying for more than a week.

When they walked back into the hallway, Sophia paused and looked around.

"So," she said carefully, staring at the doors. "Which one is Harry Potter's?"

"Sophie!" Gabrielle chastised her friend.

"It's a legitimate question!" Sophia responded.

"That one, across the hall," Gabrielle said, pointing at the door with a small frown.

"Let's check it out!" Sophia responded.

"Sophia!" Gabrielle groaned. "He has probably charmed and warded the door!" She hoped her excuse would be valid. But when her friend pulled out her wand she suspected that it wouldn't turn out that way.

"It does not have anything that I can tell," she ran her wand up and down the door.

"Yes but he is Harry Potter!" Gabrielle gasped, as if that settled everything.

"And how often do you get to see Harry Potter's bedroom, Elle?" Sophia asked in a matter-of-fact tone as she opened the door. Gabrielle was only a little disappointed when her friend wasn't immediately hexed. But the door opened with an anti-climatic creak and Sophia just giggled as she stepped in.

Gabrielle was a few steps behind her.

"It is very basic," Gabrielle said as she looked around. And it was. It didn't seem that different from her room when she'd first gotten there. He had a basic bed with dark covers on it and a large dresser. A bottle of water sat largely unforgotten on his bedside table. There were a few framed pictures on the wall, all of quidditch teams. One from Hogwarts where Harry looked to be barely a teenager. Then there were a few more of the Ballycastle Bats, especially of championship ceremonies.

Gabrielle walked over toward the pictures, looking at them curiously. No one moved in any of the photos and she had the sneaking suspicion Harry wanted it that way. She could see that they progressed a bit through his life. She wondered if perhaps they were memories he wanted to preserve exactly as they were.

The first photo was of Harry at Hogwarts. He was sitting in the middle of a bunch of players in red sweaters, looking shell shocked but still managing to smile from ear to ear as he gripped a trophy almost as big as him,. A larger player stood behind him, clasping him on the shoulders. One of the Weasley twins was kissing one of the chasers in the photo, everyone else looked fantastically happy. She could not help but smile at the image. Even without additional motion, they managed to portray absolute bliss. She sighed, almost longingly, before she moved on to the next image.

It was a shot of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, sitting on destroyed steps of what she could only assume was at Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione each had an arm around him and were smiling at the camera, Harry just looked a little bit lost as he held two wands in his hands and stared off toward whoever had taken the picture.

The next photo was different. She was not sure how much time could have passed between the two photos. Certainly Harry did not appear to have aged much. But he looked different, somehow.

In the third photo he stood on the center of a stage next to two older men. He was holding up a Ballycastle Bats jersey and he had a smile on his face. But it was an odd smile. She did not know how to describe it.

His eyes were more focused and this time, he was looking at the camera perfectly, unlike how he had been in the previous pictures. His smile looked happy enough, but there was something behind it that bothered her. If she hadn't seen the first picture, where he looked truly happy, nothing would seem abnormal to her. But when comparing the two, something seemed off. And it was not something she could readily place. So she simply moved on to the next picture, hoping that would result in some sort of unsuspected knowledge.

The next one, which hung under the previous one, was simply a standard team photo. The members of the Ballycastle Bats, in uniform, formed two rows, Harry stood in the back, next to one of the coaches. He looked bored. But everyone on the team looked bored.

He looked a little older in the next photo. He was on a broom and someone had managed to capture the image at the exact moment he hoisted a trophy over his head. Gabrielle could only assume it was the trophy for winning the league. Again, as in the first picture, just the image of his smile was contagious.

In the final picture, Harry looked almost as he did now. In it, he was arm in arm with Titus Button. They were both at some sort of event, as they were dressed in suits. Although they both seemed to be boycotting the concept of a tie. They were smiling at whoever took the picture, but something about their expression seemed like they weren't happy. Gabrielle could see, down in the corner of the picture, the silhouette of awards.

She vaguely remembered him mentioning an awards banquet, and could only assume this one had been taken at one of them. Both quidditch stars, in her estimation, simply looked like they were doing some sort of duty.

"Boring is the term I would have used," Sophia added, bringing the conversation back to the room. Sophia wandered around the room, going as far as looking in his closet and looking in his bathroom.

"I think these are interesting," Gabrielle said, nodding to the pictures.

"Maybe if they could talk," Sophia frowned. She took a moment to look through his dresser. She paused for a moment and looked at a small glass case resting on top of the dresser. It contained a snitch, resting on a pedestal. It was dated and Gabrielle could only assume that it was his first professional catch, judging from the date. But it bothered her that her friend was looking closely at what was obviously an intimate item. So, Gabrielle glared at her and spoke up, hoping her comments would distract her friend.

"No, come over here and look at them," Gabrielle said.

"Why?" Sophia asked, but she walked over toward the pictures and spent a moment looking over them.

"Do you notice anything?" Gabrielle asked, gesturing to the photos.

"That he likes quidditch too much?" Sophia asked, gazing through them.

"No," Gabrielle laughed. "I could have told you that anyway. Look at him."

"He was a cute kid?" Sophia asked.

"Well yes, but that is not what I was going for," Gabrielle scoffed.

"What were you going for then?" her friend asked, gazing through the photos again.

"Look at him," she said. "Especially here and here." She pointed to the two pictures that seemed off to her.

"Huh," Sophia said. "I never realized Titus was that much better looking than him."

"What? He is not!" Gabrielle exclaimed. Sophia just laughed and stared at her friend with a sly smile.

"Now what were you looking at," Sophia giggled. Gabrielle had the strangest feeling she wouldn't live down that little outburst.

"He looks different in some of them," Gabrielle said, gesturing to the ones that seemed odd to her.

"I don't see anything," Sophia said, gazing closer at the pictures.

"You do not think he looks different?" Gabrielle asked.

"No, I don't," Sophia responded.

"I must be imagining it," Gabrielle said. Sophia just nodded and continued to pace around the room.

"You must be," she agreed. "I still find his room to be very boring."

"What did you expect? It is just a bedroom," Gabrielle chastised her friend.

"Something a bit more interesting," Sophia lamented before she walked over to the bed in the center of the room and fell backwards onto it. "It barely looks like he lives here!"

"Well he only has for a few weeks!" Gabrielle argued. "And he says he has another house in London."

"We should have him take us there!" Sophia suggested.

"Sophie," Gabrielle laughed.

"He would," she said, smiling at him. "He sounds like he's done anything you asked."

"I have not asked for anything!" Gabrielle said. Sophia just giggled.

"Yet here I am, lying on Harry Potter's bed," her friend said, and then dissolved into an even larger fit of giggles.

"Really, Sophie?" Gabrielle asked, crossing her arms over her chest in frustration at her friend.

"Really," she said. "You can't tell me you haven't thought about it!"

"I have not!" Gabrielle exclaimed. And was surprised as Sophie just stared up at her and ran her hands down her body. Her friend was always a tease.

"Really?" Sophia asked. She turned her head into the pillow for a moment.

"I've no idea how you haven't, little Elle, no thoughts of sneaking into his room and crawling into bed with him?" she spoke in hushed tones.

"No!" Gabrielle exclaimed.

"Yet you're blushing," Sophia teased.

"Because you are being ridiculous!" Gabrielle argued.

"Maybe. But come on, Elle, how often do you get a chance to be in Harry Potter's bed?" she stretched her arms over her head and stared at her friend as seductively as she could manage. But it was interrupted by the fit of giggles that sort of ruined the mood.

"I would suspect not very often," Gabrielle admitted.

"So why are you still standing over there?" Sophia laughed.

"Because you are being silly!" Gabrielle said.

"And I'm going to be the only one in the seventh year who can brag about spending any deal of time in Harry Potter's bed!" Sophia giggled almost uncontrollably.

"I do not think Harry would appreciate you saying that," Gabrielle commented.

"Well then you should join me," Sophia giggled. "That way it can be our little secret." Gabrielle just sighed again and stared at her friend.

"Fine," she said, figuring giving in to Sophia's whims would be easier than arguing with her friend. She wandered over to the bed. "Scootch."

"Bossy!" Sophia giggled but she slid over on the bed. Gabrielle slipped onto it, lying on her side and staring at her friend.

"It is just like any other bed," Gabrielle said dumbly.

"Only you could make this so boring!" Sophia giggled and also propped herself up onto her side.

"It is just a bed!" Gabrielle gasped.

"It's Harry Potter's bed!" Sophia giggled more. "Do you know what he probably does in this bed!"

"Sleeps!" Gabrielle was growing quite exasperated with her friend.

"Uh huh, and before that?" Sophia giggled.

"You are incorrigible!" Gabrielle exclaimed. She never really liked these conversations. Her friends constantly teased her about it. And she suspected that was exactly what her friend was doing now.

"You are so adorable when you're flustered!" Sophia giggled and leaned over to kiss her friend briefly.

"Sophie," Gabrielle groaned, but her friend just rolled her onto her back and straddled her.

"Yes?" Sophia asked, staring down at her friend.

"What are you doing?" Gabrielle protested, but did not struggle too much against her friend.

"Now I get to say I fooled around in Harry Potter's bed," Sophia giggled. Gabrielle just rolled her eyes.

"You are really not going to give up with this, are you?" Gabrielle sighed.

"No, just practicing for how I'm going to win his affections," Sophia giggled.

"And you actually think that is something that you could possibly do," Gabrielle laughed. She did not intend for it to sound as callous as it came out. But she suspected that her friend did not care.

"Oh yes," Sophia said softly. "Boys are easy. It is rarely more than showing interest in them."

"Because no one has ever shown interest in Harry Potter before, right?" Gabrielle laughed. "I would think he is accustomed to that by now."

"Maybe," Sophia said. She leaned down over her friend and spoke very quietly. Gabrielle did not like how her friend's weight was resting on her, or how she could feel nearly every inch of her friends body, or how her friend's breath was hot on her lips. "But how hard can it be? I just worm my way right in here like you should have already done. I act like he is the greatest ever. And then he is mine."

"Will you please not try to flirt with, or sleep with, Harry Potter? That is not how I want to demonstrate that I am grateful for him allowing me to stay here," Gabrielle said, and she rolled Sophia over with little effort, pinning the larger girl for a moment before getting off the bed.

"You're no fun," Sophia frowned, sitting up and resting on the end of the bed. "Unless you have something special planned for showing how much you appreciate him."

"Sophia!" Gabrielle gasped. It was bad enough that she had to listen to her friend make up absurd plans that sounded as if they were out of a bad romance novel. That was certainly not something she would ever consider doing!

"Fine, fine. I'll be good now," she stood and walked back over to her friend.

"Good. Shall we go get some lunch?" Gabrielle suggested, finding it a little bit odd that she was using food as way to get out of something. But at this point, getting out of the bedroom and forgetting about every single detail of what occurred in it seemed to be the absolute best solution.

"Sure. You know good places in Falmouth?" Sophia asked.

"No. But we will find one," she said as they walked down the stairs.

"And when did you get so strong?" Sophia asked.

"What?" Gabrielle was a little stunned at the question. She had not felt strong. But it certainly had not been difficult to move her friend.

"I am like one hundred and seventy centimeters. You are like what, one-sixty?" Sophia asked.

"One fifty-seven," Gabrielle admitted. Madame Fay had measured her shortly before the end of term.

"And I'm like fifty-five kilos. You can't be more than forty-five," Sophia started.

"Forty," Gabrielle corrected swiftly. Sophia just stared at her for a moment, as if she wasn't sure what to do with that information.

"And you pushed me off of you like it was no problem," Sophia finished after a moment.

"Dancing," Gabrielle shrugged, as if that was the answer to everything. It was probably true, she knew. But she did not want to think too hard about that. She had always been physically stronger than most of her friends growing up. She knew that somehow the dancing had to be the primary reason.

Sophia, though, just nodded her head and didn't comment. She seemed to think about something for a moment. And Gabrielle almost wondered if her friend was going to make a comment about weight. She did not want to get into that discussion. But thankfully, when Sophia spoke, she changed the subject.

"So," Sophia said as they wandered out into the street. "I'm not allowed to flirt with Harry?"

"No," Gabrielle said with as much fake solemnity as she could muster. Sophia just laughed.

"Okay, fine," she said. And then she turned to her friend and said with as much seriousness as she could muster. "Does Titus Button have a girlfriend."

"I do not know!" Gabrielle said, sounding as exasperated as she could, and deciding it was best that she did not mention the beater had a soft spot for girls named Sophie.

It took them a few hours of wandering and staring at menus to actually find a place that they could both agree on. Gabrielle could have probably stopped that much earlier, but she wanted Sophia to pick a place so she couldn't be blamed if the food was terrible.

Of course, she thought wryly to herself, they were in Britain, the food would be terrible anyway.

They eventually found the closest thing to a Parisian café that Falmouth offered. It was right on the harbor and they sat outside in wicker chairs at a wicker table. They sipped tea and stared out over the harbor, both simply enjoying the warm afternoon.

"So what do you do here?" Sophia asked.

"Not much yet, really," Gabrielle said.

"Oh? That sounds boring," Sophia commented.

"It is no different from being at home over the summer, really," Gabrielle said.

"I guess not," Sophia shrugged and then took a sip of tea before making a face. "I should have ordered coffee."

"Probably," Gabrielle said. She did not mind tea, but she also preferred coffee. "How was the start of your summer?"

"Fun, except that I failed my apparation test," she scoffed.

"That is no good," Gabrielle frowned.

"I wound up in the wrong town," Sophia laughed. Gabrielle smiled at her friend.

"That would lead to failure," she nodded.

"Got to the right one on my second attempt. Almost talked the proctor into passing me. But I did not manage to pull that off,"

"At least you can do magic," Gabrielle laughed.

"It is nice," Sophia laughed. "It certainly made packing a great deal easier."

"I bet," Gabrielle said. "Harry essentially packed for me when we were in Romania."

"Oh? Just how much time did you spend with him there?" Sophia teased. Gabrielle hadn't really mentioned the trip as it just made her think about her parents. And she was doing everything in her power to avoid thinking about her parents.

"Pretty much every moment when I was not sleeping," Gabrielle said. Sophia just raised her eyebrows and looked across the table at her friend.

"And you did not tell me this why?" Sophia said.

"It did not seem important?" Gabrielle said. "He was just being nice."

"Nice? So that's what they call it now?" Sophia teased as she picked up one of the menus that the hostess left on the table and started to look through it.

"Yes," Gabrielle affirmed. "Nice."

"You should see just how nice he wants to be," Sophia said dryly. "I'm sure he is much nicer than Mathieu."

"Hey," Gabrielle frowned. "Mathieu is not bad."

"He may not be," Sophia joked. "But he is also not Harry Potter."

"At least he is interested in me," Gabrielle scoffed. "Why would Harry Potter be interested in a teenage French girl?"

"Because she's pretty," Sophia said bluntly. Gabrielle did not know if her friend was referring to her or to herself. But she did not particularly care, ether.

"Do you think Harry Potter has a shortage of pretty girls?" Gabrielle laughed.

"Pretty English girls do not even begin to compare to pretty French girls!" Sophia argued.

"If you insist," Gabrielle said. She gazed around as if hoping to find a pretty English girl to debate that point. But then she just wondered why she would be insulting her own nationality by searching for anything that the English could match them at.

"And I do insist," Sophia laughed.

"I am glad you came," Gabrielle admitted with a slight smile.

"I'm glad I came too," Sophia smiled fully back at her friend. "Nothing like getting out of the house for a week." She almost made a comment about how she wanted to get away from her parents. But she caught it in her throat before she spoke the words.

"It feels nice to be around more people I actually know," Gabrielle laughed. She took a sip of her tea and hoped that the blush would vanish before her friend teased her about it.

"I bet it does," Sophia sighed. She paused for a moment as a waiter came to take their order. He tried to flirt a bit with Sophia, but she was not interested and got rid of him by pretending that she did not speak any English. Which just meant that Gabrielle had to order for the both of them. She ordered two of the specialty salads on the menu. She was a little bit annoyed, although she would not admit it, when the waiter did not attempt to flirt with her.

But people rarely tried to flirt with her. She did not know why. They always focused their attention more on her friends than on her. Sometimes it bothered her. Sometimes she was glad that she did not receive the unwanted affections.

Of course, there were moments when she was convinced that even Mathieu was only showing any interest in her to be closer with some of her other friends. But there were also moments when she thought that was a remarkably silly idea.

"So you forgot how to speak English?" Gabrielle commented as the waiter walked away. They were still speaking French in conversation with each other. But Gabrielle knew that Sophia's English was almost as good as her own.

"For a moment there, yes I did," Sophia smiled.

"Convenient," Gabrielle said. "I shall have to try that the next time you want someone to go away as well."

"It would probably still work," Sophia commented.

"Maybe," Gabrielle frowned, she had not taken that into consideration while attempting to be clever.

"So when is Josie joining us?" Sophia asked, referring to their third friend, Josephine.

"Monday," Gabrielle said. "She had some family engagement this weekend that she could not miss."

"That's a shame," Sophia said.

"I am surprised you think so," Gabrielle said.

"Why would you be?" Sophia looked shocked. "I love Josie!"

"But it would just be more competition for trying to sleep with Harry Potter," Gabrielle said pointedly. She blushed as soon as she made the joke, but it didn't matter, Sophia laughed anyway.

"Oh you clever minx!" Sophia said. "A sex joke from Elle! There is a first for everything."

"Oh hush," Gabrielle said.

"But it was so clever! Anyway, why would Harry Potter like Josephine more than me?" Sophia asked.

"Because she is going to be much less available, I suspect?" Gabrielle commented, hoping that it didn't come out as mean as it sounded in her head.

"Oh please, at best we're equally available. I don't even have a boyfriend at the moment, Josie is still hanging off Benoit," Sophia scoffed.

"I thought she was going to break up with him at the end of the year," Gabrielle said. She vaguely remembered Josephine talking about something like that while they were all studying for their Runes final.

"She didn't go through with it," Sophia admitted.

"But she does not even like him!" Gabrielle scoffed.

"She does not mind him. And she likes what they do together," Sophia giggled. Gabrielle just rolled her eyes.

"There is no way that is good enough to make up for the fact that she does not find him to be entertaining and that she thinks he is an idiot," Gabrielle said.

"Maybe you should give it a try with Mathieu and find out," Sophia teased.

"I will pass," Gabrielle said quickly. Which just made Sophia laugh at her again.

"I almost wish he could hear you talk about him," Sophia giggled. "I bet he tells his friends how close he is to sleeping with Gabrielle Delacour without knowing that the thought disgusts you!"

"The thought does not disgust me," Gabrielle said quietly. And it was not really a lie. The thought did not disgust her. The thought did absolutely nothing to her. It was nothing more than a cold, clinical idea in her head. She felt nothing when she thought of it.

And sure, she thought of it on occasion. She could picture both of them naked and attempting to make love. But again, she felt nothing when she pictured that. It was just a series of images.

While she had confessed this to both Josephine and Sophia that she had really no interest in Mathieu, and she simply kept him around because he was persistent and seemed to like her. And it felt nice to have someone interested in her. She did not know how Fleur managed it. Her sister always had boys lined up eager to do anything for her. But Gabrielle seemed to be invisible to them.

She often wondered if it was purely because she did not have her sister's figure. But boys had not been interested in her before puberty too. It wasn't that bad of a thing, she guessed, as she barely had time to juggle Mathieu, school and Madame Fay as it was. But sometimes it made her wonder just what was wrong with her.

But what she did not confess to her friends was that boys in general did not do anything for her. She knew how they would take that. They would be very self-conscious, and she would have to spend hours telling them that she was not attracted to girls, either. But she did not want that awkward conversation. And she did not want them to look at her any differently, even if they had no grounds to do so.

So Mathieu existed to make her feel a little more normal. And she really did like him. But she just was not interested in doing anything with him. At least anything physical. Of course, that did not always stop Mathieu.

"Then throw the boy a bone," Sophia joked as their food arrived. She started to dig into her salad immediately. Gabrielle picked out one piece of lettuce at a time and ate it slowly, savoring every little bit of flavor the leafy greens had.

"And sleep with him?" Gabrielle asked, shaking her head at the idea.

"Well at least go down on him," Sophia suggested. "Or put your hands to good use."

"No thanks," Gabrielle said carefully. Sophia just laughed again.

"It really is not that terrible, Gabrielle," her friend said.

"I am sure it is not," Gabrielle said diplomatically. She took a moment to curse herself for making a provocative joke that brought the conversation back to sex. Was everyone really that interested in what went on between people's legs?

"So give it a shot. You may even like it," Sophia giggled. "I guarantee you that Mathieu will love it."

"I suspect he would," Gabrielle said carefully. She picked a cucumber out of her salad and ate it very slowly.

"Actually," Sophia said thoughtfully after a few moments. "The first time is pretty awful. I cried for like an hour after." Gabrielle blinked and looked across the table at her friend. Sophia had her fork resting against the side of her mouth and was looking thoughtfully back at her.

"What?" Gabrielle asked. Her friend had never once mentioned anything like that before. But Sophia always did put on a bit of a brave face.

"My first time hurt like hell," she said. "It took Jean two weeks to convince me to try it again. The second time was a little bit better. And after that it just got better and better."

"How many times did you sleep with Jean?" Gabrielle asked. The two hadn't been going out that long before the broke up.

"A handful," Sophia said. She seemed to think about it for a few moments. "Six or seven maybe. He broke up with me because I did not want to sneak out more nights."

"I am sorry," Gabrielle said. She had been too busy studying for her exams when all of that occurred, and had likely not been as good of a friend during those few weeks as she should have been.

"It is okay," Sophia said. "I am over it. It was for the best. And now I get to try to seduce Harry Potter!"

"You said you would not flirt with him," Gabrielle said pointedly.

"I did, Elle, but flirting and seducing are two different things," she giggled.

"I do believe he is going to find Josephine refreshing when compared to you, Sophie," Gabrielle teased.

"What makes you say that!" Sophia pouted.

"I have seen how he reacts to people simply approaching him and trying to get near him," Gabrielle said.

"And how is that?" Sophia asked. "He is never anything but the perfect gentlemen when he does anything in public."

"Yes. But that is all it is. A polite show," Gabrielle said, hoping it sounded like a more intelligent reason aloud than it did in her head.

"And you would know this how?" Sophia laughed.

"I saw him deal with groups of reporters he did not wish to be around at the Portkey station in Romania. He was perfectly nice to them, but every action was dictated at getting them to leave. And it worked," Gabrielle explained.

"How did he get them to go away?" Sophia asked.

"By answering their questions, very quickly and bluntly. And then giving a few good quotes for the sports people," Gabrielle said.

"So he'll get me to go away by doing what I want him to?" Sophia asked, licking her lips a little.

"Sophie!" Gabrielle exclaimed.

"What?" her friend whined.

"Okay so maybe that was a bad analogy. "But I do not expect that Harry likes when people throw themselves at him."

"So I need to be unavailable?" Sophia asked, she'd finished her salad by that point. Gabrielle had only eaten about half of hers.

"I think that would be a better option, yes," Gabrielle said with a faux knowing tone. For some reason she hoped that her friend believed her.

"Well I don't have a chance then," she said with a practiced frown.

"Why is that?" Gabrielle laughed.

"Because no one is more unavailable than you, Elle," Sophia joked. "If that's what Harry is attracted to, he's going to be all over you!"

"What?" Gabrielle couldn't help but giggle.

"Just wait until I tell him you aren't attracted to him either!" Sophia giggled.

"Oh quiet," Gabrielle snapped. Sophia giggled.

"Does that mean you are attracted to Harry Potter?" Sophia asked. Gabrielle rolled her eyes.

"Of course not," she scoffed. Unfortunately her friend just laughed at her more. But thankfully their waiter decided that was a good time to stop by with the check. Gabrielle paid quickly with a few coins from out of her purse. Sophia thanked her and they both stood and resumed their walk through Falmouth.

"What time will the quidditch stars be returning, anyway?" Sophia asked.

"I do not know," Gabrielle admitted. "I would think it depends on what time their match finishes tonight. I do not think they will return until tomorrow morning."

"Aw. I wanted to meet them!" Sophia frowned.

"You will," Gabrielle laughed. "Just not until tomorrow."

"Lame," Sophia said.

"I guess," Gabrielle responded. "Do you want to do some shopping?" She didn't really need anything, but Sophia always liked to shop. Gabrielle suspected it had to do with being from Paris.

"Sure," Sophia smiled fully at the thought. "But I doubt I'll find anything in Falmouth that would fit into my chic Parisian wardrobe."

"You never know," Gabrielle said, rolling her eyes. She knew Sophia well enough to know that her friend was merely pretending to be a snob.

And so they shopped. Gabrielle took her friend to all of the places that Daphne had taken her before. Sophia was more interested in the shopping than Gabrielle was. Gabrielle simply followed her friend around through most of the stores. Occasionally she would comment on something that she thought would look nice on Sophia, and occasionally Sophia would return the favor.

She did find a nice little sundress that she liked. It took Sophia about fifteen minutes to talk her into buying it. She was hesitant about spending money. It was strange. When it had been her parent's money she would have simply bought it. But when she was the only one in control of it, she did not just want to spend it until she got a better idea of what things cost.

Gabrielle tried to explain that to Sophia, but it did not work. Still, there were worse things than getting a new, cute, sundress that she would probably wear countless times during the course of the summer.

And it probably helped that her friend spent a good half hour telling her how pretty she looked in it. Gabrielle knew that was mostly just pointless flattery to make her feel better. But that was something that Sophia was adept at doing.

Deep down, Gabrielle knew that no piece of cloth could really make her look that pretty or ugly. But it was still nice to hear the words out of someone's mouth. Especially when that someone wasn't a mirror charmed to tell you why you should buy whatever it was you were wearing, even if it was something that was not on sale.

It was close to dinner time when they finally decided it was best to walk back toward the house. They were not really talking about anything as they walked through the magical part of Falmouth.

Gabrielle debated asking if her friend wanted to stop anywhere. But she did not, figuring Sophia would bring it up if she was hungry. She was terrible at judging when other people needed to eat, anyway.

As they neared the end of the magical stretch of town, though, Gabrielle noticed a building that reminded her of something she would need to do. She reached into her purse and dug around for a few moments before finding one of the little vials. She was glad to have one on her, as she did not know what it was technically called.

"Can we stop in there?" Gabrielle asked, gesturing to the apothecary. Sophia just blinked a little bit at her but shrugged her shoulders.

"Isn't it a bit early to pick up this year's supplies for potions?" Sophia asked. "We do not even know the requirements yet."

"That is not what I am looking for," Gabrielle laughed.

"Well fine," Sophia laughed. "But I am not carrying any newts or anything for you."

"I do not want any ingredients," Gabrielle laughed. "I want to see if they will make me a set of potions."

"Can't you do it yourself?" Sophia asked as they walked to the door.

"I do not know the recipe," Gabrielle admitted. And she did not know if she would trust herself to do it. Certainly she had never been bad in potions, but she was not exceptional at it, either. She would be too afraid of messing part of the potion up.

"Look it up?" Sophia asked.

"I do not know what it is called," Gabrielle said.

"And yet you're going to try to buy some?" Sophia teased.

"I have a vial of it," Gabrielle scoffed. "I am sure the worker will be able to figure it out."

"Probably," Sophia agreed as the two entered the store. Sophia immediately ducked away from her and went off to look at random pre-made potions. Gabrielle could tell that her friend was simply making an attempt at not being in the way. It was a nice gesture.

Gabrielle just wandered up toward the desk and waited for someone to come out and help her. It only took a couple of minutes for a middle-aged woman to emerge from the back. She looked at a pocket watched, as if she was surprised the store was still open, and then turned her attention to Gabrielle.

"What can I do for you?" the woman asked.

"I am looking to get a month's worth of these," Gabrielle said, putting the potion vial down on the counter. The woman picked it up and examined it carefully. First she just rolled the glass vial around in her fingers, visually looking it over.

"Who made this batch?" the woman asked.

"I do not know," Gabrielle admitted. "They have always been given to me."

"How long have you been taking them?" the woman asked, still just examining the vial in her hands.

"Four years?" Gabrielle guessed. The woman paused and just stared at the girl for a moment. Before placing the vial down on the counter and taking out her wand to run a diagnostic on the slivery liquid.

"On one potion?" the woman asked.

"Yes," Gabrielle nodded. She did not think it sounded that unusual. But then again, she was the only one she knew who took a potion daily.

"You want thirty vials, all this size?" the woman asked as she continued her diagnostic on the vial.

"Yes please," Gabrielle said.

"How will you be paying?" the woman asked. Gabrielle frowned. She had no idea what it would cost. She had not thought about that beforehand. She was beginning to think this was a bad idea.

"I have coins," Gabrielle said cautiously. "And bank notes." She started to dig through her purse for a moment. She remembered Daphne gave her a run down on how all of those things worked and she found the small booklet quickly.

"It would be fifteen galleons for the batch," the woman said.

"Okay," Gabrielle frowned. That sounded steep but she had nothing to base it off of.

"And these are for you?" the woman said.

"Yes," Gabrielle nodded. The woman put the vial back down on the counter and stared at her for a moment. Gabrielle picked it up and tucked it back into her purse, figuring that it did not need to be displayed any further.

"Do you have a prescription for these?" she asked bluntly. Gabrielle blinked a bit.

"I do not know," she said. "I get them from an instructor of mine. Is a prescription required?"

"I can't make them for you without one," the woman said. Gabrielle just frowned.

"But I need them!" she whined.

"I suspect that you do not," the woman responded. She stepped back into the office and emerged a moment later.

"Please, there has to be something I can do!" Gabrielle begged.

"There is," the woman said. "Come back here with a prescription and I will gladly make them for you. But it will take ten days to get a batch brewed."

"And I don't have that many left!" Gabrielle begged. "Can't you get started and then I will find the prescription. I am sure Madame Fay has one for me."

"If you have one, bring it here first," the woman said. "In the meantime read this." She handed Gabrielle a flier. Gabrielle didn't look at it any further than catching the word disorders on the front before tucking it in her purse to be polite.

"There is no other way I can get them sooner?" Gabrielle asked. She pouted and attempted to look as cute and helpless as possible. Although some part of her did not think that would be appealing to the woman behind the counter.

"No," she responded sternly. And then she just turned and walked back into the office. Gabrielle took that as her cue to leave, so she simply turned and walked out. Sophia followed her, but didn't speak for a few moments. Eventually, though, her friend couldn't help but ask a question.

"Just what were you trying to get, Elle?" Sophia asked.

"The potion Madame Fay usually gives me," Gabrielle frowned. Sophia had seen her friend drink vials of it on many separate occasions. But she had never commented on it.

"And you need a prescription for it?" Sophia asked.

"I guess," Gabrielle frowned. "It must be some strange English law. You know how they are with their regulations." She tried to think of some type of an excuse on the spot, purely because she did not wish to discuss the topic any further.

"Maybe," Sophia agreed. But she didn't let the conversation die that quickly. "What does it even do?"

"It helps me with my diet and exercises," Gabrielle said. If she was honest, she wasn't exactly sure what the potion did. She just knew she felt much better after drinking it every morning. And that it made the pains in her stomach go away in a hurry.

When it came down to it, though, Madame Fay told her to take it, so she took it. She had too many bad memories of her parents scolding her for not listening to the instructor, it just seemed both easier and wiser to obey.

"So it's like a supplement or something?" Sophia asked. Gabrielle shrugged her shoulders.

"I guess," she said. Sophia just shook her head as she realized she probably wasn't going to get any more information out of her friend.

"Do you want to get something to eat?" Gabrielle asked, changing the subject and assuming it was near enough to dinner time.

"Is there food at the house?" her friend asked.

"Yes," Gabrielle said. "There are both frozen items and enough things to make something if we like."

"Let's just do that and crash," Sophia mentioned. She smiled, hoping that her smile would cheer her friend it. Judging from the fact that Gabrielle smiled back at her, it probably worked. "I remember you saying something about a pool?"

"Yes, on the third floor," Gabrielle nodded. "It is very nice for relaxing. It has both a pool and a hot tub."

"That sounds divine," Sophia giggled, and they just kept walking back to the house.

They spent their first night simply lounging by the pool. They attempted to make a few things to eat, but it had not panned out as well as they suspected. Still, neither of the girls particularly cared about that bit of information.

They turned the wireless on for the game, as that was the only method they had for viewing it that evening. Gabrielle did not really pay attention to the play-by-play. But she did find it odd that she recognized certain names.

It was unusual, to listen to a sport, and realize that she knew a great deal about three of the players, even if they had only spent a couple of weeks together. But she could picture, for example, the smile on Eva's face when she scored a goal. And she could see how Harry and Titus would celebrate as they did something to help the team. It was an odd thing to know.

She found herself far more interested in the match as it progressed, too. But only because she cared about how her new friends would feel about it. Every time Appleby scored her heart fell a bit in her chest.

And it certainly didn't help that Appleby scored quite a lot in that match. The announcer, a voice she did not recognize, but it was not the same one who had announced the previous games that she had listened to, was not giving the Falcons must chance at actually competing.

She simply grew angry at the points where the announcer commented on how Coach Davis was screaming at the players in a vain attempt to motivate them. She wanted to shout at the wireless that that was not a strategy that would be effective. But she refrained, only have one or two emotional outbursts as Appleby extended their lead. Gabrielle knew that Sophia was not going to let her live down her slowly evolving interest in quidditch. But she did not care, she wanted her new friends to win.

By the two and a half hour mark her shoulders were far too tense, and she was physically struggling to not yell at the radio. Sophia just kept teasing her, telling her she looked like she was about to explode. Gabrielle just scoffed at her friend and kept listening to the match.

Eventually, she heard the announcer comment that both seekers were on to something. And her heart started to race. She listened intently for every moment as the commentary changed to a detailed description of each move the seekers made. She chewed on her bottom lip and waited for the climax of the match.

And when she heard Harry Potter's name ring out through the wireless she felt a giant rush of relief. He'd caught the snitch first, ending the match and giving the Falmouth Falcons a 420-400 win over the Appleby Arrows.

Gabrielle may or may not have jumped up from the chair with a loud happy yell as her friends were victorious. Either way, when Sophia knew that when she told the story to Josephine, she'd exaggerate Gabrielle's obsession with Falcon's quidditch.

The girls only stayed up for another hour or two after the match ended. They wandered down from the pool and to their bedrooms, eager for the quidditch players to return, Sophia so she could meet them, and Gabrielle so she could congratulate them.

They would not arrive back at the home until the late afternoon the next day. Gabrielle would later learn that was because the coach called an additional practice upon their return to Falmouth. Either way, she had only been a little surprised when the three of them all apparated into the kitchen while she and Sophia were relaxing in the living room.

"Hello," Gabrielle said, walking out toward the kitchen after she heard the three pops that signaled their arrival.

"Hey Ellie," Harry said. He yawned and stretched his arms over his head.

"Congratulations on the win," she said cheerfully, figuring that would be a good way to start a conversation. But then Titus just scoffed.

"That's what that was?" He asked no one in particular.

"Felt more like a slaughter to me," Eva agreed.

"Hey one game closer to the playoffs," Harry laughed. The other two players just shook their heads.

"I'm beginning to suspect you were correct in the paper, Harry," Eva said in her most begrudging tone. Harry just shrugged his shoulders and looked up. He noticed Sophia and smiled.

"You must be Gabrielle's friend," Harry said. He walked over to her and offered his hand. The girl just stared at him for a few moments before taking it, cautiously.

"I am. My name is Sophie," she said. Harry nodded.

"Gabrielle has told me a lot about you," he smiled. Gabrielle looked at him for a moment. It wasn't his full smile. But the reporter smile. She tilted her head to the side and wondered if she'd ever work up the courage to tell her friend that she merely warranted Harry's reporter smile.

"And you," Sophia giggled, seeming awed to talk to Harry Potter.

"So what were you girls planning on doing today?" Titus asked after a moment. He walked up between the two of them.

"I think we were just going to relax," Sophia said, eyeing the beater carefully. Titus smiled at her, a full, bright smile typically reserved for the cover of a periodical.

"Sounds good to me," Titus laughed. "I need to get quidditch off my brain."

"Me too," Harry agreed. And so they relaxed, hoping that when the day finished and started anew, there would be some sort of resolution to their quidditch troubles. But for now, it was better to simply enjoy relaxation.

Author's Note: As always, thanks for reading. I appreciate it. A PM is usually the best way to contact me if you're expecting any sort of a response.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Zaion Indulias for the beta work on this chapter.

Chapter 9

Titus Button lounged on the couch. If he was honest, laying around was probably his favorite pastime. Well, excluding quidditch and sex, anyway. But it was hard to think of both of those things as a pastime. So, in the grand scheme of things, he assumed they didn't count.

He was reading a copy of the sports section of a local Falmouth paper. It was discussing the team's recent winning streak. Although the enthusiasm was rather tempered given the fact that their last win was purely the result of Harry Potter simply being better than the entire Appleby Arrows roster.

The writer of the article did not speak kindly of 'the other two additions' made by Derrick Lunfrey. He argued that the defense had been terrible. Which Titus couldn't really argue, seeing as they gave up forty-two goals in a single match. But, you'll have that when you trot out a line of two finesse chasers and one goal scorer, and a defensive pair of a beating-god and a rookie afraid of bludgers.

And no, he didn't think it was off to call himself a beating-god in his head.

Titus really didn't enjoy the second half of the article, though. The writer went on a tangent about how he and Eva were both vastly overrated players. And that Lunfrey should have only attempted to trade for Harry Potter.

Titus couldn't help but notice that the author conveniently didn't mention that both Titus and Harry had full no-trade clauses that they had to waive to come to Falmouth. And that there was no way either of them was going to go somewhere without the other. So really, the only single Bat that Lunfrey could have traded for would have been Eva Larson.

But, for the purpose of the article, that didn't suit the writer's needs so he'd decided to ignore that fact.

He kept reading, wondering how the sports writer could be so ignorant on actual professional quidditch. The man writing the article simply kept banging on how Titus was simply a product of playing with quidditch prodigy Finbar Quigley.

And sure, Finbar Quigley had been one of the best beaters in the league, fifteen years ago. Now the man was slowing down and not quite the force he'd been. And while Titus would agree that he learned a lot from Finbar, the man certainly hadn't been the reason he'd turned into a superstar in his own right.

The author of the article also completely ignored that the scheme of quidditch played by the Falmouth Falcons was completely different than that played by the Ballycastle Bats. Coach Davis wasn't letting Harry and Titus play how they wanted to play.

Well, the coach wasn't letting Harry play how he wanted to play. Titus didn't really have a choice in the matter. He was forced to spend far too much time in the defensive zone, attempting to prevent the opposing team from having a man advantage on the attack. It wasn't a particularly effective strategy. But it was all he could do because Wall, more often than not, simply seemed lost on the pitch.

Titus couldn't help but think of how perhaps Ballycastle's strategy of never letting a rookie start barring injury or incredible circumstance would have probably done Wall some good. But now he was just a non-factor on the pitch, and Titus wasn't sure of the younger man would ever recover from that.

He was trying to help the boy out. But it wasn't really working. In practice, Coach Davis didn't really let them talk much, instead insisting that each should focus on their own segment of the pitch. It was a standard zone defense, and Titus hated playing it. Like Harry, he always thought he was better the more he flew around and let a play develop.

Sure, he saw the benefits of a zone, and he didn't mind playing it in certain situations, but Davis didn't believe there was any situation where it wasn't a superior scheme. So Titus would be forced to just sort of float in his corner and whack a bludger long-distance over toward Jordan and the opposing chasers. It wasn't very effective.

Of course, he knew what he'd been getting into when he was traded. He thought he could help Jordan. He saw a bit of himself in the kid, and Finbar had been an incredible influence on his career in his first couple of years.

But Davis didn't let Titus spend any time with him at practice. He was tempted to grab Harry and see if they could just find the other beater, and spend some off-pitch time with him practicing. But he knew that Harry probably wouldn't be that interested in doing that.

So he'd have to figure something out. Because as much as he loved playing with Harry, he knew that his friend couldn't win every single match for the Falcons, despite his best efforts to the contrary.

They hadn't played anyone worth a damn to this point. But they had a run upcoming against the Harpies, Magpies, and Tornados, three of the top five teams in the league, that would determine just how far they had to go. Hopefully they would improve before those matches came.

Personally, Titus thought they were screwed.

If they couldn't stop the Arrows scoring line, the Harpies and Magpies were going to have a field day with them. The only reason Ballycastle had sustained success against those two teams was purely because they were built to counter them.

Ballycastle's two wingers, Marcus Green and Jeremey Stretton, played a very physical, grinding game. They'd wear you down by taking it to you. Over and over again every play of the game. The finesse scoring lines of the Magpies and Harpies hated having to play that way. And so the Ballycastle line would slowly gain an advantage.

Those same lines would fly around the front three of the Falcons. Just like Appleby's lines had. Harry would have his hands cut out for him attempting to keep the snitch catch relevant. Which would lead to the opposing seeker likely having a huge advantage, since Titus wouldn't be able to offer any sort of assistance to Harry, because their defense still wouldn't be able to hold.

But that would be something he'd have to worry about at another day. He finished the article and moved on to the box scores without much interest. Puddlemere had pounded the Bats the evening before, marking the fourth consecutive loss for the Bats. They were not faring well since the trade, but that was to be expected. They were still second overall in the standings, barely losing the overall lead to the Magpies with the loss to Puddlemere.

He turned the page of the paper, looking through for any headlines that caught his attention. The only other quidditch related piece in the paper was dealing entirely with the upcoming World Cup. It was written purely based on speculation and was essentially projecting the upcoming roster.

There wasn't anything particularly surprising to him about it. Except that the writer did not have Gwenog Jones in the starting seven. She'd captained the English National team for the last two world cups. The writer's reasoning was pretty clear, too. The English team hadn't done anything remotely impressive in international play during that span.

And like most things determined purely by the British Ministry of Magic, specifically the Department of Magical Games and Sports, they weren't known for making changes. But if the writer's source was correct, there would only be one holdover from the previous national team on the roster.

The projected roster, to him, seemed like it would be solid on the back end, but would struggle up front. There wasn't much to be said about English chasers, apparently. He had to laugh, though, that six of the seven starters came from three teams in the British and Irish league.

He just hoped it wouldn't come down to that. And as much as he hated to admit it, he liked seeing his name in print in the article. He smirked a bit and thought about representing England in the World Cup. It was an intriguing thought.

And as he scanned the list, he was fairly sure he and Potter would find something to do in the host country between matches. Even if that something was just Grecian witches. Although he was secretly amused by the little C they'd added next to Harry's name. Perhaps someone could talk him into it for the World Cup, but for some reason Titus doubted that would happen.

He remembered when the Bats drafted Harry Potter. He'd been surprised, they'd needed chaser help, a void they wouldn't fill for two more years when they drafted Eva, but Titus couldn't help but think that Harry Potter wasn't what they'd need to win championships.

Boy how he'd been wrong.

At first, Harry hadn't done much other than follow their seeker around. Maxime Broussard had been in the league for five years and was pretty good. He'd stumbled in playoff games, but the Bats were always in one of the top three positions in the standings.

Titus remembered thinking his new teammate was a bit standoffish and not a whole lot of fun. Harry didn't really go out with the rest of the team, and didn't seem that interested in social interaction. He was quiet and didn't do much other than practice, change with the team, and go home. Titus couldn't help but think he looked lost.

And then the Bats went on a seven match losing streak. It was the low point of the season. Every single thing that could have possibly gone wrong did. They'd even managed to lose to Chudley. Which marked the only time in Titus's professional career where that had happened. And hopefully the only time it would happen.

A few days later they'd traded Maxime Broussard for a high draft pick. Titus couldn't remember just what that draft pick had turned into. He wasn't sure it really mattered in the long run. Because it opened the door for Harry Potter, and that had been more than anyone needed.

Titus had never really paid attention to the seeker in practice. There wasn't much of a point to. So he was a little bit surprised when Harry shot past him at full speed early into the match against Puddlemere. He vaguely remembered the opposing Seeker following a few moments later, and just laughing at the speed.

The Bats won that match, by a rather substantial margin. And they'd win the next three by equally substantial margins. But Titus still struggled to get Harry to go out with the team. And that wouldn't change for a few more weeks.

And it only changed based on a stroke of luck. After an afternoon match win he remembered going home, showering changing, and deciding he was hungry. So he wandered down the block from his apartment and stopped into a local pub he frequented most nights.

He'd sat down at the only open stool at the bar and wondered why the mood in the establishment seemed so stilted. He ordered a beer and the same sandwich he always ordered.

"Button," a voice said from his side. Titus remembered looking over and seeing Harry Potter, just looking at him, strangely. Everyone in the bar seemed to be focused on Harry. He had a half-eaten turkey club sitting in front of him, next to a full beer.

"Potter," Titus said tersely, then smiled. "I didn't know you liked O'Keefe's!"

"I come here pretty much weekly," Harry admitted. "I live in the apartment building around the corner when I don't go back to London."

"No shit?" Titus laughed.

"Yeah, why?" Harry said.

"I live in that building too," Titus admitted.

"No shit?" Harry laughed, repeating what Titus had just said. And they just started talking. Titus remembered it being a little strange. Harry always seemed like he was waiting for Titus to ask him something, or bring up something. It didn't take long for Titus to figure out he was just wondering when he'd ask about the war. But Titus didn't care about the war. He cared about eating, drinking, leering at women, and playing quidditch.

And it wasn't long before he found out that Harry also enjoyed all four of those things. And their friendship began in earnest. They met up at bars after matches, or went out on off days, and otherwise just had a good time. It was nice. They were recognized pretty much everywhere in the town, but people only ever really brought up quidditch when it was the two of them. And Harry seemed to appreciate that.

Titus wasn't sure who noticed it at Ballycaslte first, but they quickly wound up on all the team merchandise. Something that before had mostly been Titus and Finbar.

It had actually been Harry who, during the offseason after the Bats were eliminated by the Harpies, approached Titus about the hybrid style of play the team would adapt. He thought it would be a better counter for the teams like Holyhead and Montrose. And he certainly hadn't been wrong. They'd spent a few days tweaking it before Titus presented it to the coach. Their coach had been skeptical, but gave it a shot.

And in Harry's second year in the league the Bats changed the way quidditch was played. Titus started out in the hybrid role first, because the coach didn't want to give up his seeker. No one in the league really had an answer for it and the Bats steamrolled their way to the title match.

But things had fallen apart against Montrose, and the Bats lost that match 390-70. It wasn't a good night. Titus had been very surprised when, a few weeks later, he'd been named the league Most Valuable Player. He'd been the first beater to win the award in fifteen years, and all accounts stated that it was purely because of how he'd played the hybrid role that season.

He'd never really thanked Harry for the fact that he essentially received the award based on an idea that had originally been his friends. He knew he didn't have to, and that Harry wouldn't have wanted him to. But he did cherish that trophy more than any other possession he had.

The next season other teams attempted the same strategy. But they couldn't quite pull it off as efficiently. Titus wondered if it was purely because of how well he could fly, hoping that he was really that much better than most of the league. Deep down he knew there were other factors, but you had to be arrogant to play professionally.

Halfway through the year the Bats surprised everyone again by shifting Harry into the same role as Titus, and no one had a counter.

Their victory over the surprising Kenmare Kestrels in the finals set the record for largest margin of victory in a championship game in the British and Irish Leagues.

And the next year was just more of the same. Halfway through the season Harry and Titus signed the matching contracts that made them the highest paid players in the history of the league. Norm Wilder, the Bats owner, made many comments about ensuring that the dynasty stayed together forever.

The Harpies had put up a fight in the finals, but they still hadn't done enough to prevent Harry from ending the game and ensuring the Ballycastle win.

His friend quickly became the face of the league, he won two consecutive most valuable player awards, every seeker award, and wound up on the cover of every periodical. But he always liked when Titus came with. The pair of them were kings in Ballycastle, and Titus remembered thinking that life probably couldn't get any better.

It was hard to believe it was only a year later that they were both playing for Falmouth and wondering just what all had happened. Sure, it had only been a couple of weeks, but he couldn't help but think about how unhappy he was with that development.

He heard some giggling and saw Josephine and Sophia run down the stairs. They ignored him and quickly went to the fridge. He didn't pay any attention to them. If he was honest, he didn't really like the fact that they'd taken in a teenage ward, but he wasn't going to argue with Harry about it. They had the space and it would only be for another month and a half.

If he was honest he was uncomfortable around the girls. He felt like he should be some sort of a role model or something. And it didn't help that Sophia kept trying to flirt with him. And it also didn't help that they'd stare at him and speak in French in hushed tones. They'd both be leaving after the next weekend, but he suspected they'd return.

He couldn't fault Harry for taking in Gabrielle though. She herself hadn't been that bad. She was quiet and just sort of blended in. He thought she needed to work a bit on her sense of humor, and that she took things too literally too often. She also may have been a bit too meek. Josie and Sophie always seemed to be leading her around and she never argued with them. But he didn't know enough about the relationship to judge.

He didn't know where Eva or Harry were, but Harry always liked to go over his broom collection in his spare time. So he assumed his friend was in one of their back rooms, going over every thistle on every broom, despite the fact that they were all in perfect shape.

And it was probably for the best if he didn't spend a whole lot of time thinking about whatever Eva was up to. Nothing good could come out of that. He suspected that whatever it was, it was a perfectly innocent occupation. But his brain didn't always work that way.

Thankfully he was dragged from that gutter by a loud knock on the door. It surprised him mostly because no one ever knocked on his door. The only person to ever knock on his old apartment door was Harry, because he could get past the doorman seeing as he lived in the building as well.

And in their couple of weeks in Falmouth, no one had knocked on the door. His first thought was that it was probably Lunfrey. And he really wanted no part of that. But the knocking didn't stop. And there didn't seem to be anything he could do other than get up and walk over toward it. Mumbling to himself about finding an elf or something to take care of unwanted intrusions.

The pounding only grew more impatient as he made his way to the door. He yawned a bit and stretched his arms over his head as he walked, in no hurry to appease whoever it was. When he finally reached the door he let them pound for a few more minutes, secretly hoping that they'd injure their hand before he bothered to open the door for them.

When he did finally open the door, he was relieved that it wasn't Lunfrey.

Instead it was a tall, thin woman. She had probably thirty years on him at least, but still managed to look fairly attractive. His first thought probably shouldn't have been that he'd consider it if he was drunk, but it was, and he wasn't. She had a very stern expression on her face. She stared at him for about ten seconds, and then just started yelling, and unfortunately, she was yelling in French.

Titus didn't speak French. So he just stared at her for a few moments, letting her yell and wondering just what the point of all of this was. He could only assume it had something to do with one of the French girls currently residing in the residence. She looked a bit like Josephine, but not quite enough for Titus to assume they were related. So instead he did what he always did when there was a situation he didn't' feel like dealing with. He looked over his shoulder and yelled.

"Harry! Someone here to see you!" And then he just walked away from the door and back to his couch, content to simply relax and enjoy the rest of the day.

Harry's French wasn't quite good enough to deal with this situation. He'd tried learning it a few years back on a whim. But it hadn't really gone over well. Sure, he could like order a sandwich or ask where the bathroom was, but neither of those phrases were helping him in this situation. Eventually he just held out his hand and looked at the woman.

"Hi," he said jovially and in English. "I'm Harry Potter. Who are you?" He fought the urge to use an expletive in that sentence. But the woman just stared at him for a few moments. Harry sensed she realized she wasn't going to get anywhere by screaming at him in French. Or maybe she realized just who she was talking to. Either way, she wisely chose to be silent for a few moments and think about what she would say next.

"I am Zoe Fay," the woman said after a few moments.

"A pleasure to meet you," Harry said with a practiced smile. "Can I get you anything? Water, tea?"

"No thank you," she said stiffly. Harry just nodded. Her English was good, but not quite as good as Gabrielle's. Although it was probably better than both Sophia's and Josephine's.

"Alright," Harry kept smiling. "Would you prefer to go to a sitting room. Or would you rather explain why you came into my home and started yelling at me here?"

"Where is Gabrielle," the woman said.

"I don't know," Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"What do you mean you do not know!" The woman spat. "She has been photographed in papers with you!"

"Damn, Harry, can you imagine if you had to keep track of everyone you were ever photographed with?" Titus said from the couch, chuckling a bit.

"No. And I'd rather not even attempt to," Harry said. He paused for a moment then looked over toward the couch. "And you're not helping, Titus."

"Not trying to," Titus said.

"Where is she!?" Madame Fay yelled.

"I don't know," Harry shrugged again. "She's either upstairs or out getting lunch. I don't track her."

"What have you done with her!" she exclaimed. Harry just stared at her and crossed his arms, shifting his weight to one side.

"What are you accusing me of?" Harry asked pointedly. The woman just stared at him.

"If you have harmed her," the woman started. But Gabrielle took that moment to wander down the stairs. She must have been swimming, as her hair was wet. But she had a towel completely wrapped around her body. Her blue eyes went wide upon seeing the other woman.

"Madame Fay," she said, and she sort of attempted to curtsey or be formal or something, but the move didn't work because the towel fell open and she instead went back to wrapping it completely around her body.

"Gabrielle!" Madame Fay said. The woman ran over to the girl and hugged her tightly. She muttered some things in French to her that Harry didn't understand. So he decided to interrupt the moment by speaking up.

"Sitting room it is," he said and led them both off down one of the hallways to a room they'd furnished with excess furniture. He sat on one of the couches and looked between the two adults. Madame Fay still appeared to be fuming, so Harry instead turned his attention to Gabrielle.

"So, Gabrielle," he said carefully. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Madame Fay," she said, and then she looked at the woman and nodded toward Harry Potter. "Madame Fay, this is Harry Potter."

"We established names on our own," Harry said. Gabrielle frowned and looked away from him. Harry immediately felt bad. He shouldn't have snapped at her. She wasn't why he was annoyed at the moment.

"Indeed," Madame Fay said, she was still standing near the entrance, just a few feet away from Gabrielle who'd shifted to a far wall instead.

"Sorry," Harry sighed, looking at Gabrielle. "But who is she."

"She is my ballet instructor," Gabrielle said. Harry raised an eyebrow and stared at the woman.

"Your ballet instructor just barged into my house yelling at me in French," he said.

"Yes?" Gabrielle responded. She was not sure if she should have said anything or not. Harry looked at her for a moment, and then looked back toward the instructor.

"And why would she do that?" he asked. Gabrielle shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, slouching over against the wall. Madame Fay seemed to understand the question was for her.

"Stand up straight, Gabrielle," she snapped. Gabrielle responded like lightning, standing straight against the wall and looking a little frightened. "I came to make sure you had not done anything to my student!"

"Well, I gave her a room," Harry said. "Seemed like she needed a place to stay."

"She should have stayed with me!" the instructor snapped.

"Maybe," Harry said. "But you weren't there offering."

"I would rather stay here," Gabrielle said quietly.

"Shush," Madame Fay spat.

"I think I understand why," Harry laughed.

"You understand nothing, Mr. Potter," Madame Fay said.

"Actually, I understand quite a lot about quidditch and killing dark lords. Granted, both are pretty specialized knowledge areas, but I don't think they count as nothing." He smiled jovially. Gabrielle had never seen anyone, even her mother, be flippant with Madame Fay. She stared at him, almost in awe. And she noticed his smile. It was half on his face, and it looked happy enough. But his eyes were hard and focused on the dance instructor.

"This is not a time to joke," Madame Fay scoffed.

"You're right," Harry said. "It's a time to sit down and have a reasonable discussion like adults."

"Mister Potter. I am going to take my student and leave now. There are enough articles about you and your friends. I do not need your perversions ruining her career!" Madame Fay explained.

"No, Zoe, you'll be having a seat," Harry said. Gabrielle was not sure when his wand wound up in his hand. But she was pleased that Madame Fay seemed as surprised as she was. Perhaps more so, as he flicked it once and one of the chairs rushed out and slipped behind the instructor, knocking her into it.

"Mr. Potter!" the instructor yelped.

"Yes?" Harry asked, twirling his wand around his fingers but making no sign that he intended to use it again.

"You will not do that again!" the instructor said.

"Hadn't planned on it," Harry said. "Ellie? Would you be a dear and fetch us some tea? Perhaps put on some clothing, too?" Gabrielle nodded and looked thankful at the prospect of leaving the room. But as soon as she started to move Madame Fay spoke up.

"No. Stay," she said curtly. Gabrielle stopped in her tracks and nodded meekly.

"Or stay," Harry sighed. "Now why do you want her to go with you?"

"Because I have not spent ten years of my life training her only to have all of that ruined because of what has happened!" The woman said.

"So I take it she's good at ballet?" Harry said.

"Good?" Madame Fay laughed. "She is a prodigy. She could be better than Anna Pavlova, Margot Fonteyn-" then she paused, sensing that Harry wasn't really paying attention, or comprehending the names. Instead he was just looking at Gabrielle. She looked a little bit startled by that sentence. After a moment Madame Fay continued.

"In terms you can understand, Mr. Potter. If it were quidditch. She would be a better seeker than you," the instructor said.

"Impressive," Harry said.

"Beyond impressive," Madame Fay countered. Gabrielle again looked a little shocked by that as well.

"So, Gabrielle, do you want to go live with your dance instructor for the rest of the summer?" Harry asked.

"I-" Gabrielle started, but she was interrupted.

"Of course she does. She needs to practice!" Madame Fay said.

"Gabrielle," Harry repeated. "Do you want to go live with your dance instructor for the rest of the summer?"

"I would rather live here," Gabrielle admitted quietly, so quietly Harry barely heard her. After she spoke she just stared at the ground.

"But Gabrielle!" Madame Fay gasped.

"Then you can live here," Harry said. Gabrielle smiled at him, looking visibly relieved.

"Thank you," Gabrielle said quietly.

"There's no need to thank me," Harry said. "Now do you want to continue with your dance lessons?"

"Of course she does!" Madame Fay seemed to be growing more impatient with the conversation.

"Uhm," Gabrielle frowned.

"It's up to you, Ellie," he said. She just looked at him. She looked confused, like she had absolutely no idea how to answer that question. Her blue eyes were very wide.

"What do you think?" she asked. And Harry could only shake his head. It wasn't his decision to make. But she wasn't going to make a decision, he could tell.

"I think it could give you something to work for. More of a focus, you know, to help with everything," Harry said. It made more sense in his head, as it was essentially how he used quiddtich. When he was on the pitch, all of the things he couldn't talk about, all of the things he'd rather not remember, everything vanished. And that had probably helped him more than anything else.

"So you think I should keep dancing?" Gabrielle said carefully. Harry shook his head.

"No," he said. "I think you should do whatever it is you want to do."

"I do not know what I want to do," Gabrielle said quietly.

"I know the feeling," Harry said. He was a little surprised Madame Fay had kept silent. But he suspected she understood just what was on Gabrielle's mind at the moment and did not want to do anything that would result in losing her student.

"How do I make the decision?" she asked. Harry just stared at her.

"Weigh the pros and cons? Think about what other people would want you to do, decide on what makes you the happiest," Harry suggested.

"Your parents and sister would want you to continue," Madame Fay said quietly. Gabrielle nodded a little bit at the comment, but just kept staring at Harry.

"Why did you choose to play quidditch?" she asked. Harry hadn't really expected that question.

"Because I love to play quidditch," Harry said. "I love every moment on a broom. When I'm not playing it there's nothing I rather be doing. And when I'm playing it, no one asks me to solve all of their problems."

"Unless their problem is their team not winning a title?" Gabrielle responded pointedly. Harry couldn't help but smile a little bit.

"I guess," he admitted. "But that is usually my problem too."

"I see," she said. She was still looking toward the ground.

"Gabrielle," Madame Fay said stiffly. The girl almost jumped.

"Okay," she said. And Harry could tell she was simply agreeing to everything. But he couldn't tell if she was agreeing to end the conversation, of if she was agreeing because she actually wanted to.

"Good," Madame Fay said curtly. Harry turned his attention back to the instructor. "We will resume our usual schedule then, starting Saturday. You will floo to my studio at eight in the morning promptly."

"Can we do it here?" Gabrielle asked. When Harry turned to look at her she was blushing. But she could not bring her gaze up to meet the instructors eyes.

"Here? Of course we can't! What kind of nonsense is that!" Madame Fay scolded.

"Why can't you?" Harry asked carefully. He didn't really want to thrust himself into the situation any more than he already had.

"Because you do not have a studio!" the woman scolded. Harry nodded a bit and gazed around the room. He raised his wand above his head a bit and waved it around, taking a small amount of pride in the fact that Madame Fay cowered away from the motion.

He changed three of the walls to mirrors, purely because he had some notion of ballet studios having mirrors. He left the fourth wall as it was, but added a bar coming off of it about waist high, because he once remembered seeing that as well. He changed the floor to a polished wood and looked back at the instructor.

"How's that?" Harry asked. The instructor did not look amused.

"The wood is poor, there lighting is awful, and the acoustics will be terrible," Madame Fay scoffed.

"Probably," Harry said, tucking his wand away. "But I'm sure you have a detailed layout of a studio somewhere. Why don't you have it sent over to me and I'll take care of it. You can resume your lessons next week."

"Absolutely not," Madame Fay said as sternly as she could.

"Please Madame?" Gabrielle asked quietly.

"No," Madame Fay said.

"Oh come on," Harry responded with a jovial tone. "What's three more days after a couple of weeks? And it'll only be for a couple of months." Madame Fay glared at him for a moment before she spoke.

"Fine," she said. "It cannot be any worse than a converted Beauxbatons classroom."

"Thank you, Madame," Gabrielle said quietly.

"But if it is not perfect come Monday, Mr. Potter, we will be taking it back to France," Madame Fay scolded. Harry just nodded.

"Fine by me," he said. He noticed that the instructor was staring at Gabrielle in the newly acquired mirrors in the room. Her mouth was pulled into a taught line, and she did not look happy with the situation.

"Gabrielle!" she barked, looking at the girl. Gabrielle shot up perfectly straight and looked at her instructor.

"Yes Madame?" she responded quickly.

"You have a swim suit on underneath that towel, correct?" Madame Fay barked.

"Yes Madame," Gabrielle nodded.

"Take it off," she ordered. Gabrielle blushed and stared toward Harry.

"But Madame!" she gasped.

"Now," Madame Fay barked. Gabrielle blushed more but brought her hands up to the towel and unwrapped it slowly. Harry looked away at first, figuring that he was being nice. But he'd forgotten that the walls now all had mirrors. Of course, he wasn't quite sure what the big deal was, as he could have just as easily wandered up to the pool and spotted her in the swim suit.

Harry didn't notice anything unusual. She was thin and small. But he'd already known that. He turned his gaze down, wondering if he should just leave the room. But the instructor just barked again.

"You have been skipping meals again," she said. It sounded like a question, but the instructor's tone indicated that it was anything but.

"N-no," Gabrielle stuttered. "I have not."

"And you are out of your potion," Madame Fay said sternly.

"No. I have two left," Gabrielle said.

"It has been over a month, Gabrielle," Madame Fay scolded.

"I have been rationing it," she said quietly.

"Gabrielle!" The instructor yelled, looking more incensed than Harry had seen her since she'd entered his home. And that was saying something.

"I-" Gabrielle started. But Madame Fay interrupted her.

"What did I tell you about that potion!" she yelled.

"I-" Gabrielle stuttered. She was doing everything in her power to not look at the dance instructor. Instead she was just looking down at her body and frowning.

"No excuses," Madame Fay said. "What did I tell you?"

"Every day or not at all," Gabrielle admitted quietly.

"Yes," the instructor said. "One vial, every morning. Anything else is dangerous!"

"Sorry. I tried to not take it. But it hurt too much," Gabrielle said.

"Do not be sorry, stupid girl, just do it right!" Madame Fay said.

"I will," Gabrielle said meekly. Harry couldn't help but wonder just what they were talking about. Madame Fay just stared at her for a few moments.

"What hurt?" Madame Fay asked, picking up on the girl's words.

"My stomach," Gabrielle admitted. Harry couldn't help but smirk a little bit at her tone. He'd heard that tone for years. It was the exact same tone any professional player used when a trainer caught them with an injury. Especially when they didn't want to risk losing playing time.

Madame Fay, however, just looked annoyed. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the girl for a few moments, before reaching up and touching her shoulders, looking over them down her back, and examining her arms and wrists. Harry didn't quite see the point of all of that.

"You still have your food sheet?" Madame Fay asked. Gabrielle nodded.

"Of course, Madame," Gabrielle said, as if the concept of possibly losing it was abhorrent to her. Harry had heard that tone before too. It was the same tone any professional would adopt if they were accused of losing their playbook.

"Add one item to breakfast and dinner for the next two weeks," Madame Fay ordered. "But do not mix proteins."

"Yes Madame," Gabrielle said. Again her tone was meek and Harry doubted that she would comply. But other things were starting to come into focus for him as he watched the scene before him. He couldn't help but wonder just what he'd inadvertently gotten himself into.

"I am very disappointed in you, Gabrielle," Madame Fay said. "Why did you not contact me."

"I did not know how," Gabrielle said quietly, looking away from her instructor.

"Do not lie to me, Gabrielle," Madame Fay scoffed. "You are perfectly capable of using a floo."

"I did not think of it," Gabrielle stuttered. Madame Fay just shook her head. But she did not comment any further.

"I expect you here precisely at eight on Monday morning," Madame Fay said.

"Yes Madame," Gabrielle responded immediately.

"You will have already eaten. You will be changed. And you will have already stretched," Madame Fay said.

"Yes Madame," Gabrielle responded again. It seemed almost mechanical by this point.

"And no excuses, Gabrielle. We have a lot of work that we need to catch up on," Madame Fay said.

"Yes Madame," Gabrielle said. The dance instructor nodded and stepped away from her student.

"And that studio better be perfect, Mr. Potter," the instructor said.

"Nice to meet you too, Zoe," Harry smiled, not bothering to get up from the chair. The instructor just glared at him and left the room. Gabrielle didn't move. After a few moments Harry stood and walked over to her. He leaned down and picked up the towel, offering it to her. She took it and wrapped it around her body.

"I am sorry about that," Gabrielle said quietly.

"You didn't tell me you had a dance instructor," Harry commented.

"No, I did not," Gabrielle agreed.

"You should have told me," Harry said. "We could have sent for her. I'm sure she was worried."

"Maybe," Gabrielle said as she slouched forward. She looked defeated, for lack of a better term.

"You don't seem happy about that," Harry said. And Gabrielle just looked at him for a few moments. And then she smiled a smile that she learned from looking at him.

"I am happy," she said hollowly. "Can I go back to my friends now?"

"Of course," Harry just laughed. "You don't need to ask me for permission to do things, you know."

"I know," she blushed. "I will see you later." And she left the room as well. Harry stared after her, wondering if she thought he couldn't see straight through that.

Titus found him a few hours later. He was standing in the middle of what had, a few hours before been a sitting room. He'd vanished or transfigured all the furniture, except for one couch that he'd shoved away into a corner, and was working on the floor, directing his wand slowly over each piece of newly formed wood while he gazed at the plan for a studio that had shown up a few moments after Madame Fay left.

She obviously wouldn't have been in Slytherin. In a reversed situation Harry would have made sure the plan hadn't shown up until further into the weekend, just to try to have an excuse to take the girl away. But perhaps she really did just want to make sure the girl had the best facilities possible.

"The hell are you doing?" Titus asked, laughing a little bit as he spoke.

"Making a dance studio," Harry said.

"Why?" Titus asked.

"Because apparently Gabrielle has been indolent in her ballet," Harry said. Titus just stared at him for a few moments.

"So the woman was a dance teacher?" he asked, getting to the point much sooner than Harry would have thought. But every now and then Titus managed to surprise him.

"Yes," Harry said.

"We're so charging her rent if she winds up staying here too," Titus commented. "Have enough people freeloading off of me at the moment."

"Technically they're all freeloading off of me," Harry commented, taking a few steps forward to continue on the floor.

"I paid for dinner last night," Titus said, as if that had some sort of bearing on the conversation.

"Which you offered at like two in the afternoon," Harry commented.

"So?" Titus said.

"So when you offer you can't say it's freeloading," Harry concluded.

"I don't think that's how it works," Titus commented.

"I do," Harry said.

"Huh," Titus responded.

"Now shut up and come help me finish this damn thing," Harry said. Titus walked over to him, sliding his wand out of his pocket and staring over his friends shoulder.

"What do you need me to do?" Titus asked.

"Make sure all the wood matches. Apparently that's important," Harry said.

"You've already done all of it," Titus groaned.

"And now you get to check it and tell me where I screwed it up," Harry said.

"Oh sounds fun," Titus responded sarcastically.

"Doesn't it!" Harry agreed. He moved over to a corner and started on the ceiling, making sure the lighting was installed exactly to Madame Fay's expectations. He even installed the optional ceiling fans. He finished up the ceiling about the same time that Titus finished checking over the floor.

"Looks all the same to me," his friend said. Harry nodded.

"Good. Want to give me a hand with these acoustic charms?" Harry asked. "I haven't done magic this complicated since Hogwarts." Titus walked over to him and looked over his shoulder.

"I haven't done magic that complicated," Titus laughed.

"It's a good thing you know how to fly and hit iron balls," Harry commented.

"So I've been told," Titus responded.

"Just follow my lead," Harry said. "It shouldn't be that hard."

"You buying the beers?" Titus asked.

"Of course," Harry said. And he flipped open a text book, paging through the pages until he found the charm that Madame Fay mentioned. He was lucky that Hermione had bought both he and Ron copies of the seventh year spell books in hopes of getting them to complete their tenure there.

It hadn't worked, but they'd come in handy every now and again for Harry. Thankfully, all the charms Fay wanted on the studio were in the seventh year book. He figured wherever she was, Hermione was at least amused that he was getting some use out of them. Even if it had been the first time he'd bothered to open them.

And it worked out, more or less. It only took he and Titus two hours to get everything in place. And that was largely because Harry insisted on casting every charm three times to make sure that they were operating correctly.

Finally, when all that was said and done, he wandered over to the couch in the corner and started to transfigure it. It took longer to turn it into a piano than he thought. And his first attempt didn't make any noise when he struck the keys, so he turned it completely back into a couch and tried again.

The second attempt looked promising, but sounded completely and utterly terrible when he attempted to get it to make noise. And while he certainly didn't know a whole lot about how a piano should sound, he could tell that wasn't it. And Titus laughing hysterically at it didn't help.

His third attempt worked out though. At least Titus didn't laugh. He positioned it in the corner exactly how it was on the diagram and peered around.

"Well I think that should do it," Harry said.

"You should have had Eva help," Titus groaned. "She's at least good at this shit."

"I'll have her look it over tomorrow," Harry said.

"So where we going for beer?" Titus asked.

"Where are the girls?" Harry countered.

"The Frenchies went into town for dinner. I have no idea where Eva is," Titus said.

"Underground?" Harry asked, naming a late-night joint they'd stumbled upon a few days before. Harry had rather enjoyed it.

"Works for me," Titus commented and they stepped out of the newly furnished dance studio and worked their way out of the home.

Eva had been rather impressed with him the next morning. She made a few alterations to some of the charms on the studio, but otherwise said it seemed to be in excellent shape. He wasn't sure, but he thought she may have been a little bit jealous. But she didn't let that show for too long.

Gabrielle's reaction had been a bit more impressive. She walked into the room, seeming a bit annoyed that morning that he was being so insistent on showing her something. She stepped in and just looked around and gasped. Eva, Titus, and her friends chuckled behind her.

But Gabrielle had simply hugged him, tightly, and said something in French he couldn't decipher, before thanking him and staring around the room.

"Is this mine?" she asked. And she twirled around the room on her toes. Harry watched, curious at how natural the movement seemed. She finished the twirl staring directly at him.

"Sure, Ellie," he said. "I just hope your Madame Fay is as enamored with it as you are."

"She will not be," Gabrielle responded. "She does not like anything. But it will be perfect. She cannot argue that we should have lessons back in Bordeaux."

"Well that's good," Harry said and wandered back out toward the kitchen to make breakfast for everyone. He was only moderately surprised when Gabrielle ate her usual piece of toast and added some unflavored yogurt.

On Monday, Madame Fay showed up at quarter to eight. Eva and Titus were still asleep, and wouldn't wake for hours, but Harry had gotten up early purely to make sure Gabrielle had everything she needed. He felt a bit like an awkward parent helping a child go to school. But he quickly shook that thought from his head.

Although he did think she looked a bit silly sitting at the counter in a pink leotard with a skirt. She also wore matching leg warmers, and a pair of shoes that looked like they couldn't be comfortable or provide any sort of support. And she had her hair up in a very intricate bun that he didn't want to know how long it took to style. But he didn't comment on her appearance. And she didn't say anything to him. Instead she just seemed nervous. She left the kitchen and moved to the studio right around seven thirty.

Ellie had been right. The instructor didn't comment on the room. She paced around it once, ignoring Gabrielle as she went through what Harry could only assume was a predetermined stretching routine. When she was done looking around she sat at the piano and waved Harry out of the room. Harry watched her hand a small brown parcel to Gabrielle as he left. The young dancer looked very relieved at receiving it.

And time passed. He was amazed at how quickly it went. He was amazed that Madame Fay showed up five days out of the week. And Gabrielle never once complained. Even if her entire mornings were focused on something else.

Of course, along with never complaining, she never really spoke about it either. She just went about her business and practiced and practiced. Madame Fay did not let anyone watch their lessons.

Sometimes she looked more worn out than others. And sometimes she looked like she'd been crying during the rehearsal. But she never mentioned it. She'd just disappear to her room for a few hours after, on occasion. If Harry would check on her, she'd claim she just needed a shower, or was working on her summer assignments.

Madame Fay never stayed for more than a minute after the lesson was finished. And she never bothered exchanging words with any of the residents. And really, that didn't bother Harry, Titus, or Eva.

In short, they settled into a routine. But Harry had never been any good at routines. And between worrying about just how the Falcons were going to deal with their run of games against the best teams in the league, he also found himself worrying about whether or not a young ballerina was actually happy with her lot.

Author's Note: As always, thanks for reading. I appreciate it. The best way to contact me and actually expect a response is typically through a PM.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Zaion Indulias for the beta work on this chapter.

Chapter 10

Harry spent the morning reading the paper. Titus went for a run and Eva was sleeping in. Their match against the Montrose Magpies was that evening. Harry could only hope it went better than their last match against the Harpies.

The weeks before had been better, but they hadn't been that great. Sure, the Falcons had managed to crawl out of the cellar, and made it to the middle of the standings, but that was about it, and Harry wasn't sure how much more he could do by himself. Especially when he wasn't being allowed to play how he wanted to play.

Sure, they'd won, if you could call 170-150 a win. The match hadn't taken very long. And Harry found himself rather thankful that the snitch had decided to fly right in front early in the match.

He knew Titus and Eva were both doing their favorite activities to forget about a bad match. Unfortunately for him, Harry tended to just stew on them, and wondering just what he could do to make the team a better, more cohesive unit. He wouldn't admit it, but he was starting to think that perhaps he would have to take up the option of being the team captain, just so they could have some sort of team unity.

But he didn't want to go there. And he knew he wouldn't. But he would think about it. Just like he'd think about many other things over the course of the next few days as well. And eventually he'd come up with a decision of just what he should do.

He peered down the hallway. The door to the impromptu dance studio was closed. It was only ever closed when Gabrielle and Madame Fay were both in there. He couldn't help but wonder just how she managed to cope with the practice schedule. She certainly put in far more time at ballet than he did at quidditch.

He vaguely remembered something about Josephine flooing over later for lunch, so he didn't feel bad about going out himself. Not that he really thought he should feel bad. But it never quite felt right leaving her alone, despite the fact that she never once seemed to mind. He knew he was probably being silly with that thought. But he couldn't help it.

She'd asked him if Mathieu could stay that weekend. His initial thought had been 'no' and he'd had to bite his tongue to prevent from saying that. Instead he'd just looked at her for a few moments and made her promise, again, that she wouldn't abuse the trust that he had put in her.

She'd agreed readily enough, and then hugged him, smiling brightly for the first time that he'd seen since Madame Fay had reappeared. He hugged her back but felt odd about the entire thing. He knew he was being silly and overprotective. She was, after all, almost an adult, even if she didn't look it.

He shook the thoughts out of his head. He had a lunch date he needed to make sure he was ready for. Although calling it a date was a bit of a farce. His last lunch hadn't provided him the answers he was looking for. And he suspected, judging from the pictures that appeared in the paper the next morning, he'd have to answer some questions about it before tonight's match. He rolled his eyes to himself at the thought. But it was a reporter's job to read too much into things. And he certainly wasn't about to tell them exactly why he'd had that lunch date.

It had been nice to see Katie, too. She'd had a couple of months off to finish up her exams, and was back with the Bats for the summer. He always wished that things had worked out better for her. But that just wasn't to be.

Katie Bell had never really recovered from the cursed necklace in her final year at Hogwarts. Sure she'd gotten back onto the pitch eventually, but she just wasn't the same. She'd lost some speed, and her body didn't cope with the g-forces from turning a broom at over one hundred miles an hour. She'd lost her shot at being a professional before she'd ever really had a chance.

But Katie hadn't let that bother her. She'd focused on something else. And she'd proceeded quickly through medical school. And she turned that into an internship on the Ballycastle Bats medical staff. Harry admired the determination, and how she'd managed to work her way back into the game.

She would finish out the year on the Bats staff and then attempt to find a job with one of the league teams. Harry suspected that she would be able to do so fairly easily. She'd been an excellent assistant to the team's trainer, and it couldn't hurt to have Harry Potter as a reference.

She'd arrived to lunch a few minutes late, but Harry was just sitting at a table outside, perusing the menu. Katie wore a black Ballycastle Bats polo shirt and khaki pants. He suspected she'd either come from, or was due at, the stadium. Her hair was done up in a tight bun and she looked a bit more worn out than Harry remembered. But he suspected medical school finals would have that effect.

They'd talked over lunch. Katie hadn't been able to provide him with the information he wanted. Which disappointed him. She wasn't trained in the areas he was asking about. She gave him some basic information, which was helpful, but she couldn't delve into the specifics like he'd hoped, at least not with any sort of confidence. But she pointed him in the direction of someone who could probably help him. And it hadn't taken Harry long to set up another date. Well, he should say, it hadn't taken Daphne long to arrange a meeting.

"Potter!" his agent's voice rang through his foyer. He had a momentary 'speak of the devil' moment before he turned toward the floo.

"What's up Daph?" He asked.

"Lunfrey wants to speak with you. He won't leave me alone."

"Does he want to lecture me about how I shouldn't be seen with team officials from competing quidditch clubs?" Harry asked, tilting his head to the side.

"No idea," Daphne responded. "I just need him to stop flooing me. Can I send him through?"

"I need to leave in like ten minutes, Daph," Harry sighed. "Do you have any idea how much crap my agent will give me if I'm late to the meeting she spent all of yesterday setting up?"

"I have a fairly good idea," Daphne said. "So I'd suggest not being late."

"Fine," Harry said. "Send him through." And a moment later his fire roared blue and Derrick Lunfrey stepped into his home. Harry just leaned against the kitchen counter and looked at him,

"Mr. Potter," Lunfrey said. Harry just shifted his weight onto the other foot, pausing a moment before he decided to speak.

"Derrick," he said.

"I was wondering if I could bother you for a minute," Lunfrey said. He winced a bit at the usage of his first name. He didn't realize that Harry didn't really call anyone by a title and surname. At least no one that he'd met since becoming an adult. He thought he earned that right by this point. Although he was fairly sure that there would be others who completely disagreed with him.

"You have about eight of them before I have to leave," Harry said. Lunfrey stared at him, like he wasn't quite accustomed to people being difficult.

"I was hoping that Mr. Button and yourself would be willing to accompany me to dinner later this week to discuss the team," Lunfrey said. Harry tilted his head to the side and looked at him.

"Media event?" Harry asked. Derrick shook his head.

"No. I do not plan on telling anyone in the media about it. I'd prefer it if was a private event. If you would prefer I can host it at my residence," Lunfrey explained.

"Indifferent," Harry said. "But why do you want to have dinner with Titus and I?"

"I have been thinking about what you mentioned when I ran into you with your agent and I was hoping to get some outside perspective," Lunfrey said.

"Don't they have consultants for that?" Harry asked.

"Of course, Mr. Potter. But most consultants tend to tell you exactly what they think you want to hear in the hopes of staying on your payroll. My father warned me against them years ago. Anyway, I've already gone down that route. They're one of the reasons I am in the mess that I'm in," Lunfrey said.

"And so you want to talk to Titus and I?" Harry asked.

"Can you think of two people better equipped to discuss quidditch with?" Lunfrey asked?

"Reginald Dickerson and Oliver Wood," Harry responded immediately. Thankfully, Lunfrey smiled, and apparently got the joke.

"Well I can invite Mr. Dickerson," he said. "But inviting Mr. Wood would be a breach of the collective bargaining agreement."

"And Dickerson would just end up talking all night," Harry nodded.

"Likely, Mr. Potter," Lunfrey responded.

"So you want us to what?" Harry asked. "Just talk about quidditch."

"I will be honest with you, Mr. Potter," Derrick said. "I do not know. I just think that perhaps some candid conversation in a stress free environment will do us some good. I want, as you pointed out to me, to win a title. And I want to see how other people feel I can best achieve that goal."

"And you think this isn't working as is?" Harry asked.

"I am not an idiot, Mr. Potter. I know that we beat Holyhead purely because of your own skill and luck. In another ten minutes the snitch catch wouldn't have mattered. And to make it worse, Holyhead barely seemed to be putting in effort. It may as well have been practice out there. If that is how most matches are going to go, then we are not going to contend for a title," Derrick Lunfrey explained.

"Yeah, probably not," Harry agreed.

"So will you help me?" Lunfrey asked.

"I will, sure," Harry said. "But I don't speak for Titus. You're going to have to ask him yourself."

"I will," Lunfrey said. "Do you have a night that works the best for you?"

"Honestly? My schedule consists of doing whatever I want unless I receive an owl in the morning from Daphne telling me where I'm supposed to be and when. You're lucky I manage to show up at the stadium most of the time. You're better off just telling her I agreed and arranging it with her," Harry admitted. It wasn't really true, he usually knew what he was supposed to do and when. But he was amused by the thought of making Daphne deal with Derrick Lunfrey some more.

"I have a feeling your agent considers me a nuisance," Lunfrey said.

"Don't take it personally," Harry responded. "I'm her biggest client and I'm pretty sure she considers me a nuisance too." And to his surprise, Lunfrey actually laughed.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Potter," he said after a moment. Harry just smiled at him.

"No problem," Harry said. "I actually thought this was going to be a completely different conversation."

"Oh?" Lunfrey asked.

"I assumed I was going to be lectured on my off-pitch activities," Harry laughed.

"Contrary to popular believe, Mr. Potter, I don't keep track of every single thing members of the Falcons do off the pitch," Lunfrey said with a slight smirk. Harry threw him a bone and laughed.

"Well, you know," Harry shrugged.

"And while I would prefer that you did not make headlines by being seen in Ballycastle with a member of the team staff, there has never been any sort of negative comment on your commitment to your team, or your professional demeanor. I suspect that you have your reasons for meeting with Ms. Bell and that if it was anything that you thought would hinder your performance, that you would inform the team physicians," Lunfrey said.

"Of course," Harry smiled. He could sense that the owner wanted to ask him just what the meeting was about. But he wasn't going to divulge that information. So Lunfrey just nodded.

"Thank you again, Mr. Potter," he said and turned to the floo. Harry made some sort of agreeable comment and watched the man leave. He just stood there for a few moments, chucking to himself about how the man's conversation with Titus would go, and wondering just what the meal would lead to.

But he didn't spend that much time thinking about it. So he just checked his pocket to make sure he had what he needed for his luncheon and moved to the fire. He checked the name of the Scottish town he was supposed to floo too. He'd never heard of it before, so he just hoped he pronounced it right as he stepped into the blue flames.

He stepped out into a small inn. It was perhaps half the size of The Three Broomsticks and there wasn't anyone there except for the barkeep. Harry waved and walked toward the door. He didn't bother to look, but he was pretty sure the man didn't even bother to acknowledge his presence.

Outside the street was fairly busy. The town appeared to be little more than a collection of a couple of street. Right now the main one was littered with stalls of some sort. It only took Harry a moment to figure out it was a farmers' market of some sort.

Harry's first thought was that he flooed to the wrong location. But he saw a nearby sign that was at least spelled the same way as his target location, so he figured he couldn't have been that far off. He was supposed to meet up with his friend in the square near a war memorial, so he walked through the streets looking for it.

On his way he wound up with some green beans, some peas, and a bin of radishes, all in a neat plastic bag. But he figured those were just plusses. He'd cook them up for part of dinner at some point, or perhaps a lunch snack. The plan wasn't that thought out in his head, he just knew they'd be delicious.

It only took him about fifteen minutes to walk through the entire market. Eventually, he came out the other side and saw what could only be the town square. It was a large open area with a stone obelisk in the middle. He walked up to it and sat at a small fountain next to it, peering around the area and looking for the person he was supposed to meet.

She wasn't there yet, so he just kept gazing around, not sure which direction she'd be coming from. If he was honest, he'd always been a little curious as to what they did during the summer months. He also found the village to be rather quaint.

No one recognized him, which was nice. At least if they did they didn't say anything. Every now and then he could get away with that in these situations. If he looked down and didn't show much interest in anything, he could get away as your average black-haired twenty-something. It was probably one of the reasons he tended to keep his hair longer than average. Really, anything to distract from the scar was helpful.

He waited about ten more minutes before he heard a familiar voice from behind him.

"Mr. Potter," it said. Harry just laughed.

"Please, Madame Pomfrey, I hate when people call me that," he said, turning and looking at the nurse. As much as he hated referring to people by title, there were some people who he figured had earned it. For her part, the nurse looked almost exactly the same as she had on his last trip to the hospital wing.

"Poppy," she said. "Now that you're an adult, first names work better."

"Agreed," Harry said.

"Unless you're checking yourself back into my care. In which case off to bed with you!" she laughed. Harry just smiled at her.

"Thanks, but I'll pass. Really, the last thing I probably need is the Falmouth Falcons getting my medical records from Hogwarts. There's no way I'd get a new contract when this one is up," Harry said. Madame Pomfrey just smiled at him.

"What makes you think they don't already possess them?" Poppy responded dryly

"Because then they wouldn't be paying me," Harry responded knowingly.

"As long as you catch the snitch I suspect they don't care that there may be some basilisk poison in there," Pomfrey responded.

"Really?" Harry looked a bit startled. He wasn't sure if she was joking with him or not.

"Well, tears from a phoenix would have neutralized it. And it's been a decade, so I suspect it won't have any sort of effect on you. But I would think it stuck around for at least a few days," Pomfrey said. Harry just blinked and stared at her.

"Are you serious?"

"Not really, no," Pomfrey said. "But I see you have already gone through the market without me. Very bad form, Harry."

"Sorry," he laughed. "I sort of had to, or else I didn't know how to get to the square."

"You will just have to walk me back through it," Madame Pomfrey said. Harry just nodded.

"Well lead on, Poppy," he responded. It sounded odd calling her by her first name. And the school nurse did. He walked with her back toward the stalls and watched as she picked out some produce. A few of the shopkeepers recognized her and she had a couple of very brief conversations with them, altogether ignoring Harry while she did.

He didn't really mind. It was nice to just be out and about walking through a town. He liked walking, after all. Pomfrey bought quite a few things and seemed to know just about everyone at the market. And so they kept walking. They chatted briefly between stalls, but only ever a couple of words.

Eventually, once they stepped out of the market, Pomfrey dragged him toward a small restaurant. They ducked inside and sat at a booth in the corner. The hostess, a woman Pomfrey's age, chatted with the nurse for a few moments before she walked back to the front of the restaurant.

"So, Harry," Madame Pomfrey said. "To what do I owe the honor of lunch with the British and Irish League Most Valuable Player?"

"I missed you?" Harry said. Madame Pomfrey just stared at him as a waitress came with two glasses of water and asked if they'd like a drink. They both ordered tea.

"I'm sure you did. Tell me, how often do you find yourself passed out in the team trainer's office?" Pomfrey asked.

"Only once," Harry smiled. "And I was drunk at the time." She just shook her head, but she smiled at him.

"I don't think I really want to know," Madame Pomfrey said.

"Probably not," Harry admitted as their tea arrived.

"So why did your agent arrange this lunch?" Pomfrey asked.

"I was hoping to get some information from you," Harry said. Madame Pomfrey just raised her eyebrows and kept staring at him. He paused for a moment to take a sip of the tea.

"What kind of information?" she asked. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial with a silver potion in it. He put it down on the table between them.

"Well I was hoping you could tell me what this is, for starters," Harry said. Madame Pomfrey leaned over the table and looked at it. Before looking back up at him.

"Is it something you're taking? Because it is not a very good idea to take potions you don't know what are," Madame Pomfrey said with a condescending tone that only a professional nurse could pull off.

"No, it isn't," Harry said.

"And why didn't you just take it to an apothecary?" the nurse asked again. She still hadn't done more than stare down at the potion on the table.

"Do you have any idea what happens if Harry Potter walks into an apothecary and wants a potion identified?" Harry asked.

"I can't say that I do," Pomfrey said.

"Well the person working decides that they may have some sort of a story so they write to some periodical. Someone decides to publish whatever story they come up with. And then the next thing you know, every paper in the country run the headline of 'Harry Potter Purchases Performance Enhancing Potions' regardless of what I brought in," Harry said. Pomfrey just looked at him for a few moments.

"Just like that?" she asked.

"Just like that," Harry said. "And sure, I can probably prove it easily enough. But it doesn't matter by that point, the stigma is there and there's a great deal of sports fans that will automatically just assume I'm a lying cheater for the rest of my career."

"I doubt that," Pomfrey said.

"You'd be surprised." Harry sighed. "It's best to just avoid the situation in its entirety. One of the first things you're advised against when you become a professional."

"So that's why you're agent approached me, rather than you yourself?" Madame Pomfrey said.

"That and she tends to be able to find people faster than an owl can," Harry smiled.

"And am I the first person you asked?" She asked. She leaned over the table and picked up the vial of liquid. She held it carefully in her hands for a few moments, just examining it from every possible angle.

"No," Harry admitted. "I asked Katie first. She wasn't sure what it was and was in too much of a hurry to run a full diagnostic."

"Katie Bell?" Pomfrey asked.

"Yes," Harry said. "She just finished medical school. She's an intern on the Ballycastle Bats training staff."

"Good for her," Pomfrey said with a genuine smile. "She always did want to make a career in quidditch. It's a shame it couldn't be playing."

"It's a shame Malfoy's not in prison," Harry scoffed. Pomfrey didn't dignify that with a response, but merely kept examining the potion.

"You are not taking this?" Pomfrey said again, as if reiterating a point.

"Nope," Harry said. "It's not mine. Nicked it from a friend because I'm worried about her."

"Anyone I know?" Pomfrey asked out of general curiosity.

"Probably not," Harry said. He didn't care if it was a lie, he just didn't think he was in a position to be the one who informed the nurse anything.

"How often does she drink it?" Pomfrey asked. Harry wasn't sure when her tone became completely clinical, but he was surprised he missed it.

"Daily, I believe. One vial in the morning," Harry admitted.

"Every day?" Pomfrey asked.

"As far as I can tell," Harry said. "I think she mentioned something about trying to gradually work her way off of it and it not working."

"And you didn't ask her about it then?" Pomfrey asked.

"I wasn't in a position to at the time," Harry said. "That's actually the moment when I found out about it and figured I should look into it."

"So you're concerned?" Pomfrey asked.

"A little," Harry said.

"And you aren't going to give me any more information than that?" Pomfrey asked.

"Not at the moment, no," Harry said. "I'm not really in a position to reveal more than that."

"If you're asking for my help, Harry, I need all of the information I can get," the nurse said. Harry nodded.

"And I'm prepared to give you all of the information I know. But it comes down to finding out if that potion is dangerous," Harry said.

"Not on the surface, no," Pomfrey said. She took out her wand and started to examine it more thoroughly.

"And underneath the surface?" Harry asked.

"How long has she been taking them?" Pomfrey asked.

"I don't know," Harry said.

"Any sort of a guess?" Pomfrey said.

"No. But let's just say likely a few years," Harry said.

"Years?" Pomfrey raised her eyebrows and looked at him.

"Let's say that's the case," Harry said. "I have no way of knowing for sure."

"I see," Pomfrey said as she finished the diagnostic charm she was casting on the vial. Harry recognized it readily enough, it was the same type of charm that officials casted on quidditch players before every match.

"Is that bad?" Harry asked.

"Well it probably isn't good," Pomfrey said.

"So you know what the potion is?" Harry asked.

"It's a splice of a nutritional supplement and an appetite suppressor," Madame Pomfrey said.

"So it's healthy?" Harry asked.

"Well it's not overly harmful," Pomfrey said in a tone Harry did not particularly like.

"What's it do, exactly?" Harry asked.

"Well I couldn't be sure without drinking it, but I suspect that it provides a deal of nutrients. From what I can tell they're focused on muscle strength and recovery. And then the appetite suppressant seems to be pretty self-explanatory," Pomfrey explained.

"But you wouldn't say it has any lasting harmful effects?" Harry asked.

"I can't be sure of that without seeing it. Generically, no, I wouldn't expect it to cause anything harmful. I have some cause of concern about the duration of use. But, you seem concerned, and I suspect you wouldn't have brought it to me if you did not have some other motive," Pomfrey said.

"What would those concerns be?" Harry asked.

"Well the appetite suppressant in here essentially just makes someone ignore the appetite. And the nutrition is mostly supplemental, and not a replacement for sustenance," Pomfrey said.

"So it doesn't replace food?" Harry said.

"It most certainly does not," Madame Pomfrey said.

"Would you ever suggest something like it?" Harry asked. Pomfrey paused and looked at him for a few moments, before answering.

"In some situations, yes, I think I might. But only for a month or two. It's not something I'd want anyone on for a long duration. What can you tell me about whoever is taking it?"

"She's sixteen," Harry said. "Seems like a pretty normal girl, really. I honestly don't know that much about her. She seems to be getting it from a ballet instructor. At least that would be my guess."

"She any good?" Pomfrey asked.

"I guess. Her instructor said if she were a seeker she'd be better than me," Harry laughed.

"High praise," she said. "That makes some sense."

"How so?" Harry asked.

"Well the supplement is mostly about muscle strengthening and toning. As well as staying in peek shape. All things a dancer would need," Pomfrey said. "Do you know her height and weight?"

"No," Harry said.

"Guess?" Pomfrey asked.

"Little more than a head shorter than me," Harry said. "I couldn't even begin to guess weight. She's rail thin, but all muscle when you look at her, especially her legs."

"I see," Pomfrey said. "How often does she eat?"

"I don't know?" Harry said. "She usually has breakfast. And I think usually has dinner. Does that matter?"

"Yes. The suppressant part of it can make it easier to skip meals. And like I said, there isn't any caloric nutrient in the supplement, so someone would still need to eat as normal while taking it, unless they were trying to lose weight," Pomfrey said.

"So I should be concerned that her breakfast is typically say, a small bit of unflavored yogurt, and dinner is a small piece of chicken on a salad?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Pomfrey said. "Is that really all she eats?"

"All I've seen her eat," Harry said.

"Do you know anything about dancers, Harry?" Madame Pomfrey asked.

"Not a thing," he said. Pomfrey nodded.

"I've had the pleasure of working with a few in my life. As a whole, they're very concerned with body image and often strive to be perfect. Looking for excuses to not eat isn't uncommon," Pomfrey explained.

"I see," Harry said.

"And so is Anorexia Nervosa," Pomfrey said. Harry's heart fell. He recognized those words from health lectures the nurse had given during their third and fourth year at Hogwarts.

"Is that a possibility?" Harry asked.

"It is not uncommon amongst dancers," Pomfrey shrugged. "But without seeing the girl I can't really tell."

"But seeing her would be a giveaway?" Harry asked, already thinking of a way that could be arranged.

"No, but it wouldn't hurt," Pomfrey said.

"What would be a giveaway?" Harry asked.

"Nothing is," Pomfrey said. "It's a combination of everything, from weight, to attitude, to diet. There isn't really one thing that you can pinpoint. I can get you some literature on this if you are interested."

"I would be," Harry said. "Send it through my agent if you would."

"I will," Pomfrey responded. They were quiet for a few moments before the nurse spoke up once more. "So who is this girl that has you so concerned?"

"Gabrielle Delacour," Harry said, hoping the nurse didn't really recall her from the second task so he wouldn't be caught in his earlier lie.

"How did you wind up responsible for her?" Pomfrey asked, seeming a little shocked by that.

"I'm not," Harry said. "I just gave her a place to stay for the summer. She didn't want to go back to her home in Bordeaux without her parents or sister," Harry explained.

"So trauma in addition to everything else," Pomfrey said. "It's a good thing you're on your toes, Harry."

"Why do you say that?" Harry asked.

"Because if she does have a problem, specifically one involving food, someone will have to notice it before anything can really be done. And you're the most likely candidate," Pomfrey said.

"I guess," Harry responded.

"And if you hadn't noticed something you didn't like, you wouldn't have brought a potion to me. So you're obviously already up to something," Pomfrey sipped her tea and looked at him, clearly hoping he'd divulge more information than he already had.

"Well mostly I just wanted to make sure I wasn't charging in with a distinct lack of knowledge about the situation. So do you think the potion could cause anorexia?"

"No," Pomfrey chuckled. Harry wasn't sure it was a laughing matter. "But I don't think it would help. Anorexia, Harry, is more mental than that. It's about self-image and desperation to have the perfect body. The potion could serve as more of a means, but it is likely not the cause."

"But it's common in dancers?" Harry asked.

"Well, I don't know if common is the word I would use. But they are often in a high pressure environment where they feel everything must be perfect, and it can develop quickly," Pomfrey said.

"I see," Harry said. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. "And there isn't much I can do?"

"Not directly," Pomfrey said. "You can't force feed her or anything. That won't work. But you have to make her aware of the problem and find a suitable way to combat the disease. But many dancers, Harry, are just skinny. So you're going to want to be sure before you bring it up."

"I know," Harry said. "I just want to be prepared. Can you provide, I don't know, any sort of blueprint or guidelines?"

"Probably," Madame Pomfrey said. "I'll send it over with the literature on the disorders."

"Thanks," Harry said.

"Not a problem," Madame Pomfrey replied. Harry pressed his lips together and asked another question that had been bothering him for the last few moments.

"What would happen if she just stopped taking the potion?"

"Well I suspect with the muscle supplements she'd wind up feeling weaker and take longer to recover from the day-to-day lessons and practice. Nothing there would be too severe," Pomfrey explained.

"And the appetite suppressor?" Harry asked.

"Well, that's more complicated. Most cases I've heard of can barely manage to stay on an appetite suppression potion for more than a month or two. Compounding it to years, it's hard to exactly say. But essentially it makes you forget that you're hungry. So if she were to quit using it she'd actually remember hunger and what goes along with it. Essentially stomach pains, cramping, that empty feeling that you get in the pit of your stomach, all of that magnified," Pomfrey explained. Harry just nodded his understanding.

"Is there anything she can take to lessen that?" Harry asked.

"To trade one addiction for another?" Pomfrey scoffed.

"Okay, bad idea," Harry agreed.

"Very," Pomfrey said. "The best suggestion is really portion control for the first few weeks until they can remember how to eat normally."

"Makes sense," Harry said.

"How old is she now?" Pomfrey asked, seeming to count back the years in her head.

"Sixteen," Harry said. Pomfrey looked at him, appraisingly, for a moment, before she nodded.

"And you think she's been on the potion for years?"

"As far as I know," Harry said.

"So it probably stunted her growth to some extent," Pomfrey stated.

"Beats me," Harry said, resisting the urge to add something along the lines of 'you're the professional.'

"Does she look sixteen?" Pomfrey asked in a dry, patronizing tone.

"I guess?" Harry shrugged. "I'm not sure what your average sixteen year old girl looks like. She looks like her friends, only a bit smaller." He shrugged his shoulders and thought about that for a few moments, comparing what he remembered of Josephine and Sophia to Gabrielle.

"Well, Harry, it sounds like you may have your work cut out for you," Pomfrey said after a moment.

"I'm beginning to gather that," Harry admitted. And with that, they dropped the subject and ordered food. The conversation shifted mostly to Pomfrey asking him impertinent questions about his life and Harry answering them to the best of his ability. They did some reminiscing about his time spent in the hospital wing as well. And once they finished their meals they went their separate ways with Pomfrey promising to send over all the information she could gather for him.

No one was home when he got back to Falmouth. That didn't really surprise him. He knew that Eva and Titus would have gone to the stadium to prepare for the Montrose Magpies, he technically should have been there already himself, but wouldn't be too late.

He didn't know where Gabrielle was, but she'd become moderately more independent in the last couple of weeks. He knew she liked to wander out around the port and enjoy the sea breeze. And that she'd taken to doing her homework at a café a few blocks from their home, so he assumed that's where she was.

He changed quickly, grabbed a copy of the daily paper from the kitchen purely because the main headline mentioned porkeys and that grabbed his attention.

Harry was the last player to arrive in the locker room, but no one seemed to notice or care, so that was a good thing. It was still early enough before the match that he wouldn't be chewed out about it.

He changed into his athletic clothing quickly enough and then started to read the paper. They were still talking about disappearing portkeys despite the fact that there was no new news to report. Harry read the articles anyway, hoping for something, even though he'd really given up hope.

Apparently, the German ministry was going to try some sort of advanced tracking spell to see if it could ascertain any type of a location. But the article did not make it sound like there was much of a chance of that resulting in anything. Harry folded the paper in half and walked it over to a garbage can in the locker room before returning to his locker.

He sat in it and just closed his eyes, ignoring the images of his friends that appeared in his mind. He forced his thoughts off of them, off missing them, and off things he simply knew it was best to not dwell on.

Instead he focused on his upcoming opponents. He knew the Montrose Magpies better than any other team in the league. They had been the main rival of the Bats during his stay there, and the team that handed him his worst career quidditch loss. Harry always wanted to beat the Magpies in the worst possibly way. But he'd rarely been given that chance, and his career record against them reflected that.

Perhaps, he thought, just perhaps, that luck would change with the move to Falmouth.

"Hey Harry," Harry heard Titus say after a few moments of silence.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, leaning forward in his locker to look at his friend.

"My cousin called this morning. He was wondering if we wanted to come to the race again this year," Titus explained. Harry shrugged his shoulders and thought about it.

"When it is?" he asked.

"Next weekend," Titus said with a looping hand gesture that indicated to Harry that it wasn't the upcoming weekend, but rather the one that followed.

"We don't have a match that Sunday, I assume?" Harry said.

"We don't," Titus affirmed.

"Alright, I'm in," Harry said.

"Sweet, I'll let him know," Titus said. "Now get a jersey on and go out onto the pitch. Foster wants to get some work in before the match."

"We have about twelve chasers on the roster," Harry responded dryly. He noticed that quite a few of the players had left the locker room at that point, presumably going through their typically pre-match routines.

"Eva is getting a massage and Ben tweaked his wrist and is having the trainer look at it. He may be out tonight," Titus commented.

"How do you tweak your wrist?" Harry laughed. Titus just shrugged and made a fairly inappropriate motion with his right hand, which just caused Harry to laugh more.

"And you're probably a better chaser than the reserves anyway," Titus said. Harry just laughed and pulled a warm-up jersey on, grabbed his broom, and moved to the pitch.

Sadly, his friend was probably right. The reserve chasers on the Falcons roster were not that talented. A couple of them just needed some good coaching and to toughen up a bit and they may be able to make something of themselves, but there wasn't anything special in the group.

Harry was the only one in the group that could consistently get the quaffle past Foster. Titus joined them a few moments later, but did not take part in the drills, deciding that it was a better use of his time to make fun of each of Harry's shots, regardless of if they went through the hoops or not, than help the keeper get some work in.

After a few moments, Lunfrey walked onto the pitch and yelled up at Titus. The beater looked a little surprised that the owner wanted something to do with him. But he flew down to the pitch and they talked for a few moments. Harry had a pretty good idea about what the owner was asking about. Titus just looked a tad dazed by the entire situation. Harry made a mental note to make fun of him for it later.

They only spent a few minutes more on the pitch before it became the Magpies turn. So Harry flew off to the locker room. He wasn't hungry, but that didn't stop him from grabbing a sandwich off of the platter in the locker room. Eating gave him something to do. But it also brought his thoughts back to Gabrielle.

He couldn't think of any time when he'd seen her eat for the purpose of eating. She only actually ate at meal times. He didn't think he ever even saw her eat something outside of a meal time, unless you counted an absinthe-infused gummy bear. Even when her friends had bowls of chips or candies up at the pool he didn't think she ever actually took anything out of it.

He couldn't help but wonder exactly how she could live like that as he finished his sandwich. Of course, he didn't really realize how much he enjoyed eating until he started going out with Titus, sampling dishes and just enjoying food.

It didn't help that after exercising and playing quidditch nothing was quite as good as a fantastically prepared meal.

He rested back into his locker for a few moments before he started to change. He had to redo all of his pads because he realized the Falcons would be wearing their all white uniform against the Magpies. It simply made it easier for the fans in the crowd, since the teams had similar color schemes. They would wear white, the Magpies would wear black.

Ballycastle was often in a similar situation as they usually wore black and red, compared to Montrose's black and white. But, unlike Ballycastle the road team would typically wear white, and the home black, for the matchups. Sometimes, the Bats would wear a red alternate uniform, but that was rare.

It annoyed Harry that the team elves had left gray pads in his locker for the warmup and switched them to white before the match, but it really wasn't that big of a deal to change. He also couldn't help but think that if Titus hated wearing a gray uniform in matches, he'd really despise wearing a white one in a home match.

After a few moments Ben emerged from the trainer's office and started to dress for the match, so Harry assumed he'd be playing. Coach Davis was sitting in his office and not really making any attempt to talk with the team before the match.

Harry finished dressing and just waited. Thinking about how he hated waiting. But that was better than thinking about how his lost friends, or any sorts of new problems that he may have. So instead he thought about how much he hated waiting.

Blissfully, the start of the match arrived. Harry found himself just bouncing on the balls of his feet, standing by the bench on the pitch. Davis looked over the team, but Harry wasn't paying any attention to him.

"Button, Wall, we're going to need all of the help we can get on defense. Stay in your zones and guard guard guard. Don't even think about leaving Foster open to anything.

"Chasers, try to keep the quaffle in their zone. Do not get into a shootout with them. That's their style of game, not our style of game. Keep possession and keep it low scoring. And remember, McLaggen is weakest to the right side."

"And Potter, stay above and find the snitch. Don't let Parker fly around unchallenged." Davis ordered. Harry just nodded but the rest of the players spoke in some sort of confirmation. After the coach finished speaking they took to the air and the match began.

Ten minutes later the Magpies were up fifty to nothing. Harry spent the start of the match trailing James Parker, the ten-year veteran seeker for the Montrose Magpies, and wondering why he was wasting his time.

But their chaser play improved a bit. At least defensively. They blocked a couple of shots. And Foster made quite a few saves. But Cormac McLaggen was playing annoyingly well in the hoops for the Magpies. He wasn't their regular starter, but the Magpies had matches with Holyhead and Kenmare shoved around their match with the Falcons, and it was clear which team they felt they didn't need to have all hands on deck for.

Unfortunately, even their moderately improved defense didn't help. And at the twenty minute mark it was eighty to nothing Montrose.

Harry grit his teeth and flew around, looking for the snitch and keeping his eye on Parker at all times. Montrose started focusing bludgers on the opposing chasers, and it was creating more opportunities for them. Harry winced knowing that the game was going to get out of hand in a hurry.

He scanned the crowd, wondering just where the snitch would finally decide to reveal itself. He did a double take when his eyes passed over Gabrielle in the stands. At first he thought he was seeing things, but it was actually her. She looked reasonably entertained, her eyes were watching him, which made it seem a little odd when she noticed that he saw her. But sure enough, there she was, sitting in the seating area reserved for friends and family of players, next to Eva's parents.

He couldn't help but be a little thankful that she was sitting next to Eva's father, and not Eva's mother. As he knew that his teammate's father was less likely to start up a conversation with a random stranger. And he also knew just how much he didn't really want Gabrielle listening to any stories from Eva's mother.

Harry wondered, for a moment, just who she'd gotten the ticket from. As she hadn't asked him to leave her one. But both Titus and Eva were perfectly capable of leaving tickets as well. He was a little surprised that neither of his friends mentioned it. But, then again, it wasn't a particularly big deal.

His focus shifted back to the match as Parker swooped in front of him. His opposite wasn't really doing anything other than attempting to lead Harry away from the play. Harry sighed and followed him, feeling like he was doing absolutely nothing as he moved away from the Montrose rush. It had been a very long time since he'd felt useless in a quidditch match.

And it only took him a moment to decide that he really didn't like that feeling, or the one hundred and ten to nothing on the scoreboard.

He flipped his broom backward, flying upside down for a moment before righting himself and shooting off toward the Montrose chasers. They hadn't been bothering with him for the entire match so they certainly weren't expecting when he caught up with them during an attack pattern and grabbed the quaffle out of the air mid pass.

He quickly turned and flew down toward the Magpies hoops. He flew straight at the right hoop, which McLaggen quickly adjusted to. Harry got in close, deked once trying to pull McLaggen even further from the left hoop, before rifling the quaffle across the pitch to Eva, who scored easily.

He heard Davis yelling at him, but he couldn't make out the words as he checked on Parker but stayed floating in the Montrose zone. The Magpies inbounded the quaffle and started to form into one of their favored rush patterns. Harry swerved downward to cut into line with it. He cut through their line immediately as the chaser furthest back attempted to relay it up to the chasers leading the rush. He caught the red ball and shot over the top of the Magpie's chaser. He hurled the quaffle straight through the left ring before swerving around and once again checking on James Parker.

He dove low and flew down toward the bottom of the pitch, intending to shoot up through the next Magpie rush, hoping to cause a turnover that way. They would be paying a little more attention to him now, and it wouldn't be as easy to steal the quaffle.

"Potter!" He heard Davis yell as he shot past. "Stop screwing around and get the snitch!" The coach didn't seem happy, but Harry found he didn't particularly care.

He shot up into the rush as he planned. Unfortunately Montrose did not lose possession. They got a nice shot off on Foster, but she made the save and quickly tossed the quaffle toward Cora. She dropped it diving away from a bludger but the red ball fell pretty much into his lap so Harry grabbed it and shot off down the pitch.

He tossed it to Ben Neal around the center of the pitch and flew up directly in front of Parker, nearly knocking square into the other seeker. The older man yelled for a foul, but he didn't get one and Harry joined the Falmouth rush. A few passes later and Ben Neal had the third goal of the match for Falmouth.

But a moment later, Davis called a timeout. Harry floated up near the center of the pitch, intent on letting the timeout run its course. But he heard Davis yelling at him so he turned the broom around, with a glance up toward Lunfrey's box.

"Potter, what part of finding the snitch was confusing?!" Davis yelled. Harry just shrugged.

"The part where it won't matter in about ten more minutes of play," Harry responded flippantly. Davis just stared at him.

"Larson, can you seek?" the coach said.

"What? No. Why?" Eva said, sounding confused.

"You have to be kidding me," Harry laughed.

"Toivanen, you're seeking the rest of the match. Mitchell, you're on the wing for Toivanen," Davis said. Gary Mitchell, an eighteen year veteran backup chaser nodded and grabbed his broom. Cora and Eva both just looked confused. Davis pushed Toivanen back into the air. She looked very uncomfortable chasing after Parker.

"You're a fucking idiot," Titus said from next to Harry.

"Button, contrary to what you may think, I have no time or interest in your opinion. One more word and you're on the bench too," Davis said.

"You can only make one substitution per timeout, moron," Titus scoffed. "And you're not about to let Parker get four minutes of uninterrupted snitch time."

"Button," Davis barked, but Titus was already back in the air, floating up near the hoops. Foster followed after him after a moment. Mitchell joined her a moment later, followed by the rest of the team. Harry turned and started to walk toward the locker room as play resumed, but Davis barked from behind him.

"Potter, bench, now," he said. Harry turned, begrudgingly, and moved to the small metal plank set up on the sidelines. He plopped himself down next to Russell Jones, the backup keeper, and just stared up at the game.

The older man said something to him, but he wasn't paying attention. He just nodded in agreement and hoped the veteran understood what he was getting at.

Harry winced with every Montrose goal from that point on. And there were many. He quickly had a new worst quidditch memory and couldn't help but think, wryly, that his luck had only gotten worse with Montrose.

The match took four and a half hours. And when James Parker finally caught the snitch, Harry Potter felt nothing but relief from the celebration. He gave the scoreboard one passing glance and couldn't help but wince. Nine hundred and sixty to seventy had to be some sort of league record, but certainly not one he wanted to be associated with.

Harry was the first player back into the locker room. Which probably wasn't very professional. Titus was the last Falcon back. He was saying something mostly positive to attempt to cheer up Foster. Judging from the look on the keeper's face, it wasn't working.

Davis followed him in and just stared around the room as the players change. He went into his office for a few moments, clearly giving the team a few moments to stew on their recent performance.

Harry finished changing and was tempted to leave. Eva looked ready too, but Titus was still in his pads and talking to Foster and Wall, attempting to get the game out of their heads. It didn't seem to be working.

A few moments later Davis emerged again and stared at the players.

"I hope you're proud of yourselves," he said as angrily as he could. He opened his mouth to continue but the door to the locker room flew open and Derrick Lunfrey walked in. He looked around, his eyes shifting between the players and the coach. Harry couldn't help but think the man looked furious, and more focused than he ever had before.

"Davis. Button. Office. Now." He said, gesturing to the coach's office. Coach Davis looked a little surprised but Titus just nodded and walked into the office, still in full uniform. A moment later the coach followed him. And then Lunfrey looked around the locker room.

"The rest of you can get changed and go home. Your practice schedule will resume as normal in the coming days. You will be flooed if anything changes," Lunfrey said before he too walked into the office.

Harry just stared at them for a few moments. He saw Lunfrey cast some sort of a spell, judging from facial expressions and the fact that Harry didn't hear anything it was a silencing charm. After a moment Eva looked at him.

"What should we do?" she asked. Harry just shrugged.

"Listen to Lunfrey and go home, I suspect. I think they'll be a while," Harry answered.

"You don't want to wait for Titus?" she asked.

"I want to," Harry said. "But I think it's probably best if we don't." He paused and looked around the room. "Anyone actually want to talk to the media?"

"Hell no," Sarah Foster laughed.

"No way," Cora Toivanen said. Most of the rest of the players just nodded in agreement.

"Alright," Harry said. "I'll go out first and deal with that. You guys can sneak out behind me." And he stood and moved over toward the exit of the locker room. He took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping out into the stadiums lowest level and walking straight to the reporters waiting for post-match comments. He didn't smile, because he knew it wasn't a situation he should be smiling it. But he answered all of the questions asked of him in the next hour.

Titus, Lunfrey, and Davis had not emerged by the time he'd finished, so he just shrugged to himself and left the stadium, heading home and wondering what tomorrow would bring.

Author's Note: As always, thanks for reading. I do appreciate it. The best way to contact me and actually get an answer is typically through PM on the website.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Zaion Indulias for the beta work on this chapter.

Chapter 11

When Harry stepped back into his house he smelled baking. After a few whiffs he suspected brownies. He immediately wandered into the kitchen, looking for the source of the smell. He didn't know Eva baked anything. She complained about him not making baked goods enough, but she'd never attempted to make anything herself.

But it wasn't Eva standing near the stove. Instead Harry found himself looking at a very petite blonde. She didn't know he was standing in the entryway and he took the moment to see if he could get a really good look at her.

She was wearing a purple sundress. But he could only really see the skirt and the shoulder straps, as a curtain of silvery-blonde hair fell down to the small of her back obscuring most of her back and waist. He tried to gage just how wide the hair was to try to picture how wide she was. But that just all got confusing in his head and he thought that, perhaps, he was looking too hard into it.

She had broad shoulders that he knew funneled down into a very small waist. He thought, probably incorrectly, that he could wrap his hands completely around her waist if he had to.

Upwards, she had a long neck. It wasn't as long as Petunia's, and, also unlike Petunia's it appeared to be more graceful than anything else. She also had more than her fair share of hair. Harry hadn't ever paid that close of attention to the long, blonde, sheet. But she also didn't usually have it down. In fact, he was reasonably certain she had it tied up at the quidditch match that evening. But apparently she felt down was better for the moment.

He shifted his eyes back down around her waist and let them linger there for perhaps longer than he should. She had a rather nice behind. He spend a few moments just staring at it, wishing she'd decided on jeans rather than a short, summery dress, simply because jeans would give him a better view.

Harry knew that he shouldn't have been thinking that way about her, much less a very specific part of her. And he also knew that he shouldn't have been imagining how easy it would be to walk up behind her, tease her with the soft touch of his lips on her neck. In his mind he knew she wouldn't protest as he hiked her skirt up to her waist. And she'd just giggle as he bent her over the…

He shook his head, hard, until every thought of that nature was gone, and he resumed his examination, attempting to keep everything as clinical as possible as his eyes slid down her legs. They were very long. Harry knew it was cliché to think that they went on forever, but that was the first thought that came into his mind.

The second was that they were thin. But despite that, he could see muscles. She was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet as she attempted to mix what Harry could only assume was another pan of brownies. The motion didn't seem to take any sort of effort for her. And, despite being barefoot, she could nearly get onto her toes without so much as wincing.

He looked away from her purely because he didn't want his train of thought to run down the same tracks as it has before. His gaze was redirected around the rest of the kitchen and he couldn't help but survey the mess she'd made.

Every sort of baking ingredient was littered around the counter. A great deal of it appeared to have not made it into the measuring cup, or the mix, but Gabrielle seemed unconcerned with that at the moment. She was instead beating something by hand, still bouncing on her feet.

In her arms, which Harry noticed also managed to look both thin and toned, she was holding a large silver mixing bowl. It was cradled into the crook of her left arm as she mixed with her right, her muscles tense as she went through the motions. It looked a bit like she was struggling, like the motions were not familiar to her. Harry could picture, without seeing her face, the look of concentration she likely had.

Harry wondered if she baked a lot. Whatever she had in the oven smelled good, but he couldn't help but think she looked very, very out of practice as she attempted to make another batch. He let her keep mixing for a moment before he spoke up.

"What are you doing?" he asked. She stiffened and stood up perfectly straight before turning to face him. She kept the mixing bowl cradled like a small child in her arm, but stopped mixing.

"Baking," she said quietly. She looked away from him and Harry couldn't help but think she looked a little bit like she thought she was caught doing something wrong.

"Smells good," he said jovially and her face lit up with a smile.

"Thank you," she said.

"What are you baking?" he asked.

"I have a pan of peanut butter and chocolate brownies in the oven," she said.

"And that?" Harry asked, nodding toward the mixing bowl she had out.

"A cake," Gabrielle said.

"You made a pan of brownies and a cake in an hour?" Harry asked. "Or did you leave the match early?"

"It was tempting," Gabrielle said, and Harry knew she was referring to leaving the match. "But I did not leave early."

"Well you picked a dandy match to attend," Harry sighed.

"That is why I am baking," Gabrielle said.

"Oh?" Harry asked.

"It is what my mother would do to cheer people up," Gabrielle frowned.

"And we needed cheering up?" Harry asked. Gabrielle nodded and went back to mixing the cake. After a few moments she seemed to decide that it was done and she placed the bowl on the counter.

"Well, Eva walked in and immediately went into her room without saying a word," Gabrielle said. Harry noticed she had a pan prepared. He watched as she poured the batter into the pan.

"And she couldn't just have been feeling anti-social?" Harry asked.

"Eva does not strike me as the anti-social type," Gabrielle said. "And I was not worried about cheering her up. Eva was more of a tertiary goal."

"Who were you worried about, then?" Harry asked.

"You and Titus," Gabrielle admitted.

"Why us?" Harry couldn't help but smile at the sentiment. But he was also honestly interested in the answer to the question.

"Well you looked very sullen on the bench," Gabrielle said. Harry winced at the memory. He took a moment to try to remember the last time he was benched for any reason other than simply a night off or an injury. He couldn't remember it.

"And Titus?" Harry asked.

"Titus has just been very nice," Gabrielle said. "And he mentioned that he enjoys chocolate and peanut butter. So I decided that I could make brownies with both."

"And the cake?" Harry asked.

"Eva thought you preferred cake to brownies," Gabrielle said. The buzzer on the oven went off at that moment. It was just a few seconds past her finishing with the batter in the pan. Harry didn't really have a preference. If he was honest he liked all baked goods pretty much equally. He took a moment to wonder where Eva would have come up with that and supposed because he usually picked a slice of cake if there was dessert in the locker room.

But Harry decided that wasn't really worth thinking about for any longer and instead figured it was a much better idea to simply watch in silence as she bent over the oven to extract the pan of brownies. He rather enjoyed the view.

Gabrielle set the brownies down on the counter before grabbing the cake pan and sliding that into the oven. She set the timer and turned back to him.

"I guess I do," he said. "But I'll be honest, Gabrielle, I don't discriminate between baked snack items."

"Well that is good," she responded with a smile.

"And I am still impressed you managed to make two things so quickly," Harry said.

"I cheated," Gabrielle commented. "I used a mix."

"Still made a mess," Harry commented as he walked over toward the counter, mostly to get a better whiff of the brownies. But he noticed she still had ingredients and eggshells littered around his kitchen.

"I am sorry," she said. "I will clean it up."

"I got it," Harry said. He'd already disposed of the egg shells and proceeded with putting ingredients back in the proper cupboards. "You shouldn't have to clean up after baking."

"Thank you," Gabrielle said. But she helped him get things organized anyway. It only took the two of them a couple of seconds to get everything put away, even with Harry deciding to not bother with magic.

"You're welcome. Think those are cool enough to eat yet?" Harry asked, staring down at the pan of brownies.

"They are just out of the oven!" Gabrielle scoffed.

"So that's a no?" Harry asked.

"Yes, but, you know, you are a wizard," Gabrielle said pointedly. Harry nodded.

"Good point," he said. He pulled out his wand and wandered over to the pan of brownies, cooling them with a brief swish. He summoned a knife out of a drawer and cut two rather generously sized brownies out of the pan. "Want one?" he asked, offering it to her.

"No thank you," Gabrielle said.

"Oh come on," Harry smiled, taking a bite of his. "They're delicious."

"I am not hungry," Gabrielle said.

"I wasn't aware hunger was required for brownie consumption," Harry commented. "Mostly I thought people just ate them because they're delicious."

"Maybe," Gabrielle shrugged her shoulders, not wanting to argue with him.

"So have one," Harry smiled, offering it to her again.

"Do you have any idea how fattening those are?" Gabrielle crossed her arms, attempting to look stern. Harry nodded.

"Yes," He said. And he cut another one out of the pan and started to eat it.

"So I cannot afford to eat one," Gabrielle frowned.

"Sure you can," Harry said. He finished eating his second and offered it to her. She just frowned and stared at it, as if the brownie was probably the reincarnation of Lord Voldemort. He found the expression to be curious.

He thought, that maybe, just maybe, she was going take the brownie. But then the buzzer on the oven went off and she immediately turned away from him and walked over to it. And while Harry didn't mind that she, once again, bent over to grab out the cake, he was a little annoyed that she didn't take the brownie. Something about it was bothering him. He'd have felt so much better about the entire situation. She placed the yellow cake down on the counter next to the pan of brownies and proceeded to open a can of icing.

"Would you please cool the cake so that I can ice it?" she asked, staring at him. He raised his eyebrows but did as she instructed. She took the knife he used to cut the brownies over to the sink and washed it off quickly before returning to the open can of icing and sliding the knife into it.

Harry watched as she applied the chocolate icing to the cake. She appeared to be very focused on the task. It seemed to take longer than Harry thought it probably should have. She used essentially the entire canister and spent a great deal of time making sure it was all spread perfectly evenly.

As she iced, Harry moved over to the fridge and grabbed out a bottle of water.

"Want one?" he asked, reaching in and grabbing two, anticipating her answer.

"Please," she said. When he looked back at her she was wiping her brow with the back of her hand that was still holding the knife. She walked over to the sink and cleaned the knife off once more before she turned back to the counter.

"Here you go," he said, handing it to her.

"Thank you," she responded. She opened it quickly and drank about half of it. Harry did the same.

"So when can I eat the cake?" he asked.

"I do not know" she said. "I would probably let it sit for fifteen to twenty minutes. Although I suspect you could magic it ready."

"I'll wait," Harry said. And he looked at her. She had a brown smudge on her cheek and Harry couldn't help but chuckle a little bit. He wasn't sure just how she'd managed to smudge icing onto her face. But she had. He figured she must have caught herself with the knife while she wiped her brow.

"I hope I did not ruin it," she said carefully, looking at the cake.

"It smells good," Harry said. She nodded a bit and he heard her stomach rumble. She blushed a very deep crimson.

"It does," she admitted. Harry just smirked at her and offered her the brownie.

"Brownie?" he said. She seemed to hesitate for a moment. But after meeting his eyes she simply took it into her hand and took a very small bite of it. Harry watched as she closed her eyes and savored every moment of the brownie. Once she'd finished with it Harry spoke again.

"Well it didn't kill you," he said.

"Yet," Gabrielle frowned. "Does Titus go for a run every morning?"

"Uh," Harry paused to think about it. "I'm not sure. I think so. He's still at the stadium though. I don't know what time he gets up or goes."

"He is usually out running when Madame comes," Gabrielle said. Harry nodded, he knew Titus did like morning exercise, but he'd never really bothered trying to figure out what his friends exercise schedule was.

"And I'm usually asleep," Harry said jovially.

"Yes, yes you are," Gabrielle nodded.

"Why do you ask about Titus?" Harry asked. Mostly he was just wondering aloud, but she seemed to think he was legitimately interested.

"Madame is not coming tomorrow. I will need to exercise off the brownie," she said knowingly. Harry had to keep himself from laughing.

"Gabrielle," he said slowly. "I'm pretty sure you could eat the entire pan of brownies. And then the cake, and still not need to exercise it off."

"I do not think so," Gabrielle said. She was blushing again and Harry just shook his head.

"I do. You exercise enough that you could probably eat a whole cow if you wanted to," Harry said. "I'm not sure how you stay standing half the time."

"I do not know," Gabrielle shrugged, looking away from him. He could tell that she really didn't want to continue the conversation. He suspected if he kept pushing her she'd simply respond with the same non-committal statements. So he changed the subject, because he couldn't think of anything better to do.

"You have some icing on your face," Harry said. Gabrielle looked back up at him.

"I do?" she asked, reaching up and feeling around her mouth for the icing.

"Yes, there," he said, gesturing sort of toward her face. The motion did not help, though. She just frowned and lowered her hand.

"Did I get it?" she asked and she gazed around the room. Harry could tell she was looking for a mirror.

"No," he responded. He walked up to her and reached out toward her face. "Here, let me," he said.

"Okay," she nodded. And he reached up and cupped her face gently with one hand. He brushed his thumb over her cheek slowly, making sure he got the icing on it, before lowering his hand. He had to admit, he was more amused than he should have been by the fact that she flushed red at his touch, and that her breathing elevated.

"There," he said. She just stared at him for a moment. He couldn't say for sure, but she looked confused by the entire situation, like she wasn't sure how she should be reacting, but that how she was felt off to her. She paused for a few moments before speaking.

"Is it gone?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," Harry said.

"Good," she responded quietly.

"You are very pretty," he said, just staring at her. Her eyes widened and she looked up at him.

"Thank you," she said carefully. And she leaned closer to him for a moment, her eyes locking onto his. They were very wide and full of wonder. Harry couldn't help but wonder what was going through her head as he stood just inches from her. But part of him knew. And he suddenly didn't think this was such a good idea. Especially when he didn't know anything about her.

"So think the cake is ready yet?" Harry asked, changing the subject and looking for a way out of the situation. She just frowned and nodded.

"Probably," she said. "Would you like a piece?"

"Of course," he said with a bright smile. Gabrielle found herself just staring at it for a moment. It was not the smile that he often showed the reporters. No, it was the smile that lit up his entire face. She lost herself, for a moment, wondering how some simple baked goods could make someone so happy.

But she eventually looked away from him and moved over toward the cake. She cut him out a rather large piece and placed it on plate. She took a fork out of the drawer and put it on the plate before sliding it over to him.

"Thanks," he said with a smile. "Have a piece too."

"No thanks," Gabrielle said, staring at the pan.

"Oh come on," Harry teased. "You don't spend all the time making it just to not eat it. That's pretty much blasphemous."

"I guess," Gabrielle said, looking away from the pan.

"Here," Harry said, he summoned the knife she'd left on the counter and cut off a rather small square. He then summoned a plate from the cabinet and levitated the piece onto the plate, before floating it over to Gabrielle. Next he summoned a fork out of drawer and levitated it next to the plate.

"No thank you," Gabrielle said again, but she couldn't help but smile as the food floated in front of her face, bobbling up and down around eye level.

"Don't make me force feed you," Harry teased.

"You would not dare," Gabrielle said sternly. Harry just raised an eyebrow at her and the fork proceeded to spear a bit of cake carefully, before floating up toward her mouth.

"Wouldn't I?" he teased. Gabrielle rolled her eyes at him before reaching up and taking the fork out of the air. She grabbed the plate a moment later.

"How is it?" she asked, self-consciously staring at the yellow cake on the end of the fork.

"Dunno," Harry said, cutting a second piece out of the pan. I'll have to eat more to find out."

"You ate your piece already?" Gabrielle looked alarmed.

"Yes," Harry said matter-of-factly.

"Do you want mine?" she asked hopefully, holding the plate toward him.

"Eat your cake, Gabrielle," Harry said with a faux-sternness as he ate about half of his second piece in one bite. She decided it was best to just not comment any further at that point and so she ate her cake, slowly. Harry finished his piece and ate another brownie before she finished hers.

"That was good," she said quietly after finishing it.

"It was," Harry said. He took the plate from her and cleaned both with magic before putting everything away. "Thanks for making those."

"It was my pleasure," Gabrielle said. "I figured you probably needed something after that match."

"If Titus wasn't still at the stadium, we'd probably be doing shots," Harry admitted, confirming her suspicion.

"I think baked goods are better," Gabrielle said.

"Harder to come by, though," Harry countered.

"Maybe," she said. She paused for a moment before asking. "Why is Titus still at the stadium?"

"Lunfrey wanted to talk to him and Davis," Harry said.

"About what?" she asked. She tilted her head to the side and just looked at him. She had an interested expression on her face, but Harry had a hard time believing that she actually cared about the inner workings of a professional quidditch team. Still, he'd answer her questions if she asked. It was her own fault if it bored her to death.

"Well I'm not sure what he would have wanted to talk to Titus about, to be honest. I thought that was a little bit odd. I didn't think that it was the type of conversation that a player really needed to be present for," Harry explained.

"But what would they be talking about?" Gabrielle asked and it occurred to Harry that he never actually answered her question.

"I think Lunfrey is probably going to fire Davis," Harry said.

"Really?" Gabrielle asked.

"Yes," Harry said.

"Why?" Gabrielle asked and Harry couldn't help but smile a bit inwardly. "I thought you said he liked him."

"I think he probably did at some time," Harry said. "But, well, you don't bench the league most valuable player and then proceed to lose a match by nearly a thousand points and expect to keep your job."

"I see," Gabrielle frowned. "I feel bad for him."

"It's part of the business," Harry said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Does it happen often?" Gabrielle asked.

"First time for a team I've been on. But it happens commonly enough when teams have bad years," Harry explained.

"Oh," Gabrielle frowned.

"He'll be fine," Harry said. "Someone will hire him to do something or other next season. And he's already made a great deal of money as the head coach of the Falcons."

"It is still sad," Gabrielle said.

"I guess," Harry shrugged. If he was honest he was completely indifferent on the entire thing. Of course, in his opinion, the best coach was the one who simply came up with game plans and let the players do their jobs. He didn't like coaches that tried to micromanage things.

"Is that why you are not upset with the loss?" Gabrielle said.

"I guess," Harry shrugged. "After so long in the league you don't really get that upset with a loss. It happens. You can't let one bad game get you down. Otherwise one game turns into three."

"Don't you hate losing, though?" Gabrielle asked.

"Yes," Harry said. "But it's impossible to win every match."

"I guess," Gabrielle said.

"Well do you win every dance competition you've ever been in?" Harry asked.

"I have only ever been in one," Gabrielle said, blushing a bit. "And no. I did not win."

"Only one?" Harry said. "What do you practice for then?"

"I learn classical ballet and go through routines to increase versatility and know how to dance properly," Gabrielle said. Harry thought it sounded practiced.

"Ever been in a show?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I am not part of a company."

"I see," Harry said. "Don't you want to be in more stuff with that?"

"I guess," Gabrielle said, shrugging her shoulders. Harry was beginning to understand that was simply her default reaction to anything that she really didn't feel like talking about. He nodded and decided it was probably best to change the subject.

"So, why did you decide to come to the match?" Harry asked. He couldn't help but be a bit curious about her decision, since she hadn't really mentioned anything of the sort to him.

"I just wanted to show my support," she said. "Titus offered to get me tickets for any match that I wanted. I took him up on that offer."

"Well I wish you'd have picked a better match," Harry said.

"I suspect I will go to quite a few more," Gabrielle commented.

"You enjoy quidditch?" Harry asked. He always assumed she simply spoke about it to be polite, and that she had never really been that interested in the sport.

"Not really, if I am honest," she said quietly. "But Mathieu enjoys it. And I think he would be very cross with me if we did not take the opportunity to use such good tickets."

"Ah," Harry said. He pressed his lips together and didn't say anything for a few moments. "Well if you need any tickets, feel free to ask met too."

"I will," Gabrielle said. Harry checked the watch, wondering just how long Titus was going to be. But after a moment he decided it was probably best to just try to find something else to talk about.

"So your mom used to bake when someone was feeling down?" Harry said.

"Yes," Gabrielle said. She looked toward the ground. "But she would make complicated things like macaroons or fancy things. I just used a mix for both."

"Well they were both great," he said.

"I'm glad you think so," Gabrielle said. "They are not as good as if mom made them, though."

"But delicious, none the less," Harry said.

"Thank you," she said.

"So did baked goods make you feel better as a kid?" Harry asked. He hadn't heard Gabrielle really mention her parents since their time in Bordeaux. He knew that she probably needed to talk to someone. He couldn't help but hope that Josephine and Sophia had been able to help her out a bit.

At the very least, she seemed to be doing a lot better now than she had been a few weeks ago. He knew that really, time would help more than anything. But he still had no idea how to broach the subject with her, and if he even really should.

"Sometimes," Gabrielle frowned. "She stopped really doing much of it when I was fourteen."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Probably because I stopped eating it," Gabrielle frowned. She looked toward the ground and nibbled on her bottom lip for a moment.

"Why?" Harry asked again.

"Because I did not want to gain weight," Gabrielle admitted. It was Harry's turn to bite his lip. He wanted laugh and tell her that she could probably should gain a few pounds. But he didn't think that was the appropriate way to initiate that conversation. So instead he took a leap and brought up why he thought this whole situation could be bothering her.

"But you miss it," he said.

"I do," she admitted.

"If I had half a clue how to make a macaroon I'd get some started for you," Harry admitted. Gabrielle just looked up at him. Her sky blue eyes were watering.

"It would not be the same," she said. "But I appreciate the offer."

"It would be the least I could do," Harry said. Gabrielle nodded.

"It was worse than that though," she said, still looking at him.

"What?" he asked.

"I got her to stop by telling her I hated everything she baked," Gabrielle said. "I told her I found it all disgusting."

"But you didn't," Harry said.

"Of course not," Gabrielle frowned. "But I did not want the temptation. So I lied to her."

"I'm sorry," Harry said.

"I did not want to," Gabrielle sniffled. "It just hurt so much to smell it all. I wanted to just sit at the table and eat until they were all gone."

"Gabrielle," he said softly. But the younger girl wasn't paying attention to him. Harry noticed the tears starting to roll down her cheeks.

"She did not bake after that," Gabrielle sniffled some more. "Well, at least not when I was home. I suspect she still sent thing to Bill and Fleur and made things for my father. But never when I was around. I think she knew."

"I'm sure she did," Harry said softly trying to think of proper condolences to give the girl.

"I always wanted her to teach me how to make the macaroons. And her toffee brownies. And her peanut butter fudge," Gabrielle's breath caught in her throat and she stopped talking. She sniffed once and looked away. Harry had run out of things to try to say. He looked at her as she tried to stop the tears from coming.

And then he just reached out and took her hand. Her gaze shifted back upwards toward him and he pulled her into a hug. She seemed surprised by the motion as he held her tightly.

"It's okay," he whispered and she just cried into his chest. He just held her and let her cry. It didn't take very long for her to get it out of her system. Eventually, she looked up at him, through her long eyelashes, her tearstained face breaking his heart as she spoke.

"You said it would get better," she said quietly, accusingly.

"I said it would get better slowly," Harry sighed.

"Then why do I still cry whenever I think about my parents?" she asked.

"Ellie," he said quietly. "I still cry when I think about mine. And it's been twenty-two years."

"Oh," she said.

"It's not a bad thing to cry," he said.

"I do not want to cry anymore," she said. He just smiled at her.

"Good," Harry said. She looked startled and tried to back away from him, but he was still holding her.

"Good?" she asked.

"It means you'll stop then. It's acceptance, of a sort. I don't know. I'm by no means a professional. But that's not far off of what I say to myself, from time to time," Harry tried to explain, but he didn't know how to put his feelings into words. He sensed he didn't do that good of a job.

"How have you stayed so composed?" she asked. "It has been weeks and you have never looked bothered."

"I'm bothered," Harry said. "But I'm not, well, normal."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I've put up a façade for years, Gabrielle," Harry said. "I can retreat into that. What was it that you said early on? 'Harry Potter does not cry'? It's a lie, of course. I cry more often than I care to admit. But not when people can see. It's all a show."

"I just want it all to go away," Gabrielle said.

"No you don't," Harry said. "If it goes away, you start to forget. And you really don't want to forget."

"I guess not," she said.

"And forget is a hard term. You don't ever forget. It just starts to haunt you less, and it hurts less," Harry said.

"I wish I did not feel so alone," she frowned.

"You are not alone," Harry said, holding her a bit more tightly.

"I know," she said. "But that does not mean I do not feel alone."

"No. I know how that goes," Harry said. "That's what friends are for, though."

"I know. Seeing Mathieu will be nice," Gabrielle said.

"I suspect it will," Harry said a little tersely.

"I wish I could tell my mother how much I loved her baking," Gabrielle said quietly.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. And they were silent for a few moments.

"What do you miss?" she asked. She feared he wouldn't answer. That the question would be too invasive for him to answer. She knew that some reporters had tried to get him to do an interview about the accident. But he'd refused.

"Hermione," Harry said. Gabrielle just stared at him. For some reason that answer surprised him.

"Why?" she asked.

"Hermione was the first one to really make me not feel alone," Harry said. "Whether it was at school or after. She was the one that was always there. I mean I didn't want to fall for her. I knew Ron liked her. And it would have been so much easier to not. But she was the first girl that actually spoke to me and was nice to me. What else was I supposed to do?" He let his voice trail off.

"I don't know," Gabrielle said quietly. Harry barely heard her.

"Just what do you know about the war?" Harry asked.

"I was at the wedding, you know," she scoffed.

"So you know how it started," he said.

"Yes. You fled from the wedding and the three of you went searching for pieces of He-who-must-not-be-named's-"

"Tom Riddle. Voldemort," Harry said. "He's dead. Don't fear the name."

"Well you fled from the wedding and hunted down the pieces of his soul. And then met him at Hogwarts for a final battle. Hermione said all of that in her book," Gabrielle said.

"Ah yes," Harry laughed. "Hermione's book. The Three Musketeers gallivanting through the forest and slowly unearthing Voldemort's traps. That book is more fiction than fact. It was a public story we agreed on to get people to let us get on with our lives."

"So that is not what happened?" Gabrielle asked.

"No. No it isn't," Harry said. "But that doesn't matter. One night we weren't doing so well. We didn't have any food worth a damn and Ron was upset. He thought I had no idea what I was doing or where we were going.

"He was right, naturally. I didn't. But that didn't matter. He just wanted to go home and be with his family. I can't really fault that. But he left, Ellie. He left me," Harry sighed. Gabrielle looked up at him. She was rather enjoying being in his arms, even if she still had tears rolling down her face. He was just looking out over her head.

"He did not," Gabrielle gasped.

"He did," Harry said. "And I never forgave him for it. Well, that's not true. I did, I suppose. But I never told him. I think, deep down, he wished I would say it. But I couldn't bring myself to do that. My first friend, my best friend, ran away when I needed him most."

"I'm sorry," Gabrielle said.

"That's not the worst part," Harry said. And he was silent. Gabrielle waited, and waited. She did not want to ask him to continue. But she knew that he would not continue if she did not ask.

"No?" she asked, trying to get him to continue with the least amount of effort.

"No. Three days later Hermione and I shared a sleeping bag in our tent. For warmth, we said. At first I suppose we just wanted to be close to someone. A few days later it was more than just sleeping."

"Oh," Gabrielle said. She looked away from him, but doing that just caused her to wind up with her head against his chest. He just slid his hand up her back when she did that, though, so she could only assume he did not mind.

"And I really fell for her then. She was always there for me. For the first time our little excursion actually became fun. We planned things, we acted on the plans. We could talk, we could brainstorm, everything was so much easier without Ron there.

"I knew I shouldn't have been doing anything with her. That I was betraying Ron. But I couldn't help it. It just seemed so right. And we were both, well, happy, for the first time since we started looking for the horcruxes.

"But he came back. And he saved me. I couldn't believe it when I saw him. His expression," Harry laughed hollowly. "It was like he expected me to thank him and grovel. And I almost did. In hindsight, I think that's when the façade really started.

"Hermione never mentioned it to him. At least that I know. He never mentioned it to me. We didn't spend any more time together after that. I don't know if I should have told him. But I've always felt more like I betrayed him by my actions. And I won't ever get a chance to apologize for that. Even though I know that Ron would have never understood. And he would have just hated me for all of it.

"I see," Gabrielle said quietly. She knew he wasn't trying to outdo her, but his quiet mumbling made her feel silly for her own regrets. But she knew that wasn't his intention. And somehow, the story was making her feel a little bit better.

"But to answer your first question," he began. "I miss Hermione. Because she always knew what to say. And was always willing to help. And I'm going to miss that."

"I'm sorry," Gabrielle said.

"It's alright," Harry said. "I've had more time to come to terms with all of it. I've been a bit of a pariah to my friends in the last few years. It was just easier to be away from them and blame quidditch. Can I help it if I was jealous of Ron?"

"I guess not," Gabrielle said. "But what about Ginny?"

"Ginny?" Harry shrugged. "She was a crush at sixteen. And not even much of one. We tried again after the war, but it just didn't work out." Gabrielle could not help but think that sounded a bit cold. But she did not comment. It was not her place to comment.

"Everyone always assumed you two would be together," Gabrielle said.

"I know," Harry said. "And everyone was wrong. But it was easier to let them have their delusions. I think Ginny thought it too. I spent too much time behind the façade, worrying about telling the truth. But this conversation, Ellie, never happened."

"What?" she asked, lifting her head away from his chest and looking up at him.

"These are all things I can't talk about. No one can really know. It would disrupt too much. And it's best if people just believe what's out there," Harry said. Gabrielle remembered the things he couldn't talk about from the wedding. She felt strangely honored to have Harry Potter confide in her. She knew she'd never tell another living soul what he said. So she simply nodded her affirmation to him. Gabrielle could not help but wonder about what else there was that he could not talk about. But she knew that now was not the time for those conversations.

She also knew that there may never be a time for those conversations.

So instead, when she finally spoke, it was to change the subject.

"That façade you spoke of. It is like you do with the reporters?" she asked. He just looked down at her, not entire sure what she was getting at.

"What about reporters?" he asked. He raised his eyebrows and looked genuinely interested in where she was taking this.

"In Romania, you were different when you were talking to them. Your demeanor changed. It was you, but it was not you," she looked confused. Like she'd expected him to understand what she was getting at without having to explain it.

"I never thought of it in those terms. But yes. I suppose I probably did shift a bit more into the public persona than the private. Now I spend more time in that vein than I normally would. It helps me cope," Harry explained.

"You smile different when you are acting," she said quietly. Harry just looked down at her.

"I do?" he asked.

"Yes. When you are in public you smile like this," she sort of grinned at him, giving her head a brief tilt to the side. Her mouth barely curving upward and her eyes betraying no emotion.

"I see," Harry chuckled, looking down at her.

"But when you are in private you smile more like this," she curved her mouth into a full smile, showing just a little bit of perfect pearly white teeth. Her eyes widened and seemed to light up with the rest of her face.

"I never really thought about that," Harry laughed.

"Well you do it. You can even see it in the pictures in your room," Gabrielle said.

"You were in my room?" Harry countered.

"Of course not!" Gabrielle blushed and looked away. Harry just shook his head but smiled. He couldn't see it, but he suspected it was far closer to her second one rather than her first.

"I'll have to look more closely at those pictures," Harry said. "I just picked them because quidditch has always made me happy."

"I know. I can tell," Gabrielle said.

"Now why were you in my room?" he asked, with a little half smirk.

"Sophie could not resist the urge to see what Harry Potter's bedroom looked like," Gabrielle blushed and looked away, hoping that she did not violate his trust. Especially after he'd just confided so much in her.

"Either could you, eh?" he teased.

"I tried to keep her out!" Gabrielle said.

"I'm sure," Harry responded.

"I am sorry," Gabrielle said. Harry just laughed.

"Oh don't be. I'm sure if I was a sixteen year old girl I'd be trying to see what was going on in Harry Potter's bedroom, too," Harry said. Gabrielle just shook her head and stared up at him. And then she realized something. She felt better, lighter, after crying and just talking. She tilted her head to the side and looked up at him.

"I feel better," she said.

"Me too," Harry said.

"But you were not the one crying!" Gabrielle said.

"And that means I can't possibly feel better?" Harry countered.

"I guess not," she said. She shook her head and just looked up at him for a few moments longer.

"I'm glad you feel better, though," he said.

"Me too," she said and then yawned. Harry looked over at the clock. It was nearly two in the morning. He was amazed that Titus hadn't returned yet.

"And now I think it's time for bed," he said. Gabrielle frowned but wiggled around so she could see the clock. Harry had to think fairly hard about anything other than her body squirming against his.

"Oh it is late," she said.

"Technically early," he countered.

"I guess," Gabrielle frowned. Harry sensed she probably didn't get his joke, or appreciate the joking. So instead he just slipped his hand down toward hers, taking it gently, and started to lead her up to her room.

"Thanks for the cake and brownies," Harry said as he stopped outside her door. She just hugged him rather tightly. He couldn't help but hug her back.

"You are welcome," she said as she held him. Harry stared at her for a few moments. He noticed she was staring back at him, looking right up into his green eyes. He watched the color rise to her cheeks and couldn't help but wonder just what she was thinking as she looked up at him.

"Good night, Gabrielle," he said, hoping she'd slide her arms off of him. But she didn't. Instead she just looked up at him and spoke so quietly he could barely here her.

"Uhm. Do you want to come in?" she asked. And then she blushed even more. "I mean, talking seemed to be good. And you said you were…and I know that I am just going to think of my parents and I do not really want to and I do not know I do not mean that anything should happen I just do not know what I should do and I do not want to be alone and I felt better talking to you and I am not sure what I am even saying right-"

"Ellie," Harry said, just staring at her. She paused and stopped talking and looked up at him.

"Sorry," she said meekly. And for the moment, she wasn't a thin, pale, girl. Instead she was bright red and looking a little shocked by her words.

"It's alright. But you should go into your room, crawl into bed and curl up with a nice fuzzy blanket and pretend that it's someone holding you," Harry said. And he leaned down and kissed her, gently, on the forehead. "Now sweet dreams, Ellie."

"You too, Harry," she said carefully. She stared up at him for a moment before turning and walking into her room. Harry waited for a few moments, just watching the closed door, before he proceeded down the hallway to his own bedroom.

He walked over to the dresser and took some clothing out of it and proceeded to change. He kept his door open, hoping he would hear the sound of Titus returning and could then ask about the discussion with the coach and the manager. But he didn't hear that noise. And by the time he finished changing into his pajamas, and noticed the stack of papers on his bedside table, he figured he had bigger things to worry about.

First he wandered over to the door of his bedroom and closed it. Next he moved to the bedside table and paged through the papers left for him. He could only assume they were from Pomfrey, and that she'd gone way above and beyond.

He had articles on every type of eating disorder. They seemed to cover every single possible detail that someone could encounter. Harry just paged through them, knowing full well he wasn't nearly coherent enough to tackle all of them.

Pomfrey had even included articles specifically focusing on eating disorders in dancers. Most of them were from Muggle publications although some were from magical journals as well.

She'd also included pages that seemed to be more focused possible magical and medical ways of treatment. Pomfrey had ample notes on these pages. Harry didn't bother reading through them at this point.

The final set of documents contained all sorts of things, and were packaged a little differently. He was surprised Daphne had gotten them to him so quickly. But he had her to blame for planting the idea in his head. She was the first one to mention that she was too thin.

Her package contained more information about dancers in general. Including physical guidelines for healthy dancers. He skimmed that one before flipping to some provided information about ballet schools and ballet companies.

He paged through them briefly before he decided that he wasn't going to accomplish anything that evening. So instead he just crawled into his own bed. He grabbed a blanket and cuddled up with it, closing his eyes and fantasizing about nothing in particular as he attempted to drift off to sleep.

The blonde girl that filled his fantasies was new. Usually his mind focused on something that looked much more like Daphne or Hermione, depending on his mood. But tonight wasn't the case. He knew he shouldn't have thought about her. But he figured some harmless thoughts wouldn't lead to anything. So he just kept his eyes closed and tried to sleep, knowing that he had plenty of work that would need his attention in the morning.

Author's Note:

As always, thanks for reading and reviewing. I appreciate it.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Zaion Indulias for the beta work on this chapter.

Chapter 12

Harry woke around nine the next morning. He yawned and crawled out of bed slowly, stretching his arms above his head as he proceeded to the shower. A few moments later he emerged and dressed for the day.

Harry took a second to check his schedule, to make sure he didn't have any sponsorship commitments to take care of that day. But ever since the trade Daphne made sure his schedule was pretty barren. He made a mental note to tell her that he was situated now, and she could return to getting him to smile at cameras for money.

Once he was changed and ready he grabbed the piles of papers from his bedside table and proceeded down toward the kitchen. He dropped all the paperwork onto the counter and started to page through it. But he gave up on that after about fifteen seconds and decided it was better to try to get some breakfast in him before scouring the paperwork.

He grabbed a couple of eggs and scrambled them quickly. He debated making himself a fried egg sandwich but decided that scrambling them was easier. Once they were done he tossed them onto a plate. He grabbed the radishes he'd picked up at the farmer's market with Pomfrey and started on the eggs.

He read while he ate. After the first few bites he essentially stopped paying that close of attention to the food. Twice he had to magically warm the eggs before continuing eating. Once he'd finished with them though, it became easier to just occasionally take a bite of a radish while he read.

It was all interesting to him. But he wasn't sure how much it affected him. He saw some of the warning signs right away. But when he compared it to the ballet and dance guidelines that were also included, he found himself in a bit more of a gray area.

So he did all he could really do. He just kept reading, intent on trying to memorize every little detail. He figured that once he had a better idea of the entire situation in his head he'd be able to better analyze whatever was going on.

Still, a part of him thought that perhaps he should just stay out of it. The more he read, the more he realized just how in over his head he actually was. He quickly realized that he had absolutely no idea how to tell if there even was a problem. It would be entirely guesswork.

It certainly didn't help that all of the visual evidence that had been included was of extreme cases. He'd seen Gabrielle in little enough to tell that she looked nothing like the walking skeletons he was now looking at. Yes, she was thin, but there was a certain strength to her petit frame. That strength was not evident in any of the pictures he was looking at.

He spent a few moments switching through the papers that discussed anorexia, and the papers that discussed ideal ballerinas. He was surprised that there were quite a few parallels between the two. And that thought disturbed him.

He wondered just where the information on dancers came from, too. He assumed the medical sheets were all in some type of archive. A few of them even had publication details on them, which was handy. Pomfrey's notes even contained references to works so that when he read something in her specific notes he could easily find the matching documents. He figured it would have been a more intriguing feature if he were concerned about anything other than just getting the basic information.

But the information on the dancers was different. Really all of it was conjecture and opinion, with the possible exception of the symptoms of anorexia. There were lots of theories on how and why the illness developed. But the dancing information was mostly in the form of oral accounts from dancers. From what Harry could tell, most of the accounts were from dancers that had battled with the disease.

In them the girls, all the accounts were from females, talked about what they felt drove them to that point. And why they thought it was okay. Harry noticed a few common themes through the articles. All the girls were trying to be perfect. They were striving for some sort of ethereal ideal that none of them could really describe. And they all felt pressure from outside sources to get to that point.

But, it was different forms of pressure. There was never a common theme. Sometimes it was simply because they thought they were too large and wouldn't get a part. Or they thought their friends had better chances because they were smaller. Really, there were more reasons given than Harry would have found possible. But there they were.

His next page was nothing more than a statistical comparison of eating disorders amongst certain groups. He skimmed it for a moment, but didn't spend that much time on it.

Eventually he found a page from the Royal Ballet about eating disorders in dancers and what they do to avoid them in their students. Harry thought the entire thing sounded rather harsh, but figured that could only be because of how seriously they took the issue.

After he skimmed that he went back to Pomfrey's notes. He was fairly surprised to find medical records and dates, a few of which were from his time at Hogwarts. Pomfrey had redacted the names and dates, excluding the year, but she kept careful notes on each patient. Harry couldn't help but try to figure out who they were as he paged through them. But nothing came to mind.

So instead he focused on the case details. Harry knew that Pomfrey wouldn't have included them if she hadn't thought that they were worth looking at. Pomfrey had highlighted the warning signs of each case, as well as how she'd gotten the patient to talk about it. And how she'd gotten her patients to combat it.

He did notice that on two of the cases the nurse had felt she had not been successful. The student had graduated without a resolution. In both cases the parents had been involved in the treatment. But Harry could just tell from Pomfrey's notes that she was not particularly proud of either.

Harry spent a fair amount of time reading over the details on those cases. He focused on the warning signs, placing that information up against the basic facts that had been referenced in the other articles. There were enough similarities that he could see how Pomfrey had drawn her conclusion.

He also focused on the ways she'd gotten the students to acknowledge the problem. Some of the other works that were provided to him focused on those as well. A few even claimed that it was the hardest part in helping someone and one of the most crucial steps toward recovery.

Once he'd felt like he'd done enough reading he went back to sorting through the pictures. Daphne's packet on ballet included some shots of what Harry could only assume were famous ballerinas. He spread them out over the counter, next to the pictures of anorexia patients. He could certainly see quite a few distinct differences between the two.

The severe cases of anorexia made Harry want to vomit on the counter. There seemed to be bone everywhere, and they didn't look like living humans. But the dancers, while still managing to look far too thin, at least looked strong.

He tried to imagine Gabrielle standing next to the girls in the photographs. He thought that she looked much closer to the ballerinas. But he couldn't tell if that was purely because he wanted, desperately, to see her like that, or if that was actually the case.

Harry attempted to picture her, exactly how she looked the night before. But it was too easy to alter his mental image, without any clue as to if it was how she looked or not. He did remember, though thinking about how she was almost entirely muscle when he examined her the night before.

After a little while longer he decided that he wasn't going to get anywhere reading anything more at that point, so he stacked all the papers back up, spending a moment to organize them by ones he'd read and ones he hadn't. He banished the papers back toward his room and decided to find a better way to kill time.

It felt a little bit odd to not have practice. Ballycastle typically had a light day after matches. Mostly they would just study the previous game and do a bit of flying. But Falmouth, like many other teams in the league, had off days after matches, unless the team schedule was particularly full that week.

Harry didn't mind that. Nor did he think it was in any way inferior to the Ballycastle method. In fact, he could see the merits of both ways. He just didn't like not having the structured activity after a match. He suspected though, that in time, he'd grow accustomed to it.

So he paced around the house and tried to think of something to do. But nothing really came to him. So instead he pulled a Titus and wandered over to the couch, taking a copy of the paper with him, and tossing himself down on the furniture.

He only managed to make it about halfway through the opening headline of the Daily Prophet before the door to the home opened. Harry sat up to look at who entered.

"But regardless, I told you," Gabrielle's voice rang out through the entry way.

"Yes, you did," Titus admitted. Harry couldn't help but get the feeling he was joining the conversation rather toward the end.

"Hey now," he said as he stood and followed the other two into the kitchen. "Telling off Titus is supposed to be my job."

"Well you were not around," Gabrielle shrugged.

"Nice," Titus said, smiling at the small French girl. He reached into the fridge and grabbed out two bottles of water before tossing one to Gabrielle.

"Thank you," she said as she fumbled with it. But she did manage to catch it. Harry wasn't sure if she was thanking him for the water or something else.

"What did I miss?" Harry asked, looking between the two of them. Titus looked his normal self, wearing Falmouth Falcon exercise clothing. Gabrielle wore a cotton tank top and a pair of shorts. Neither of them looked like they'd been exercising recently, though.

And he couldn't help but take a moment to try to examine the girl more closely. The exercise clothing clung to her much more than her sundress the last evening had. And again, he couldn't help but think she was very, very thin. Her waist and hips were tiny, almost flat, as was her upper body. But her arms and legs were very toned. All the dancing had at least left her in impeccable shape.

"A four hour post match meeting with Derrick Lunfrey and Ralph Davis," Titus said. That wasn't really what Harry had been interested in talking about. But Titus looked like he wanted to gush a bit like a schoolgirl, so Harry decided it was best to just go with it.

"Four hours?" Harry said. That shocked him a bit. But he'd spent an hour with the reporters, and a few more with Gabrielle the night before. Of course, Titus could have very well decided to go out rather than come home the night before. But Titus always preferred company when he went to a bar. And Harry was typically willing to be that company.

"Four hours," Titus affirmed.

"How does it take four hours to fire a coach?" Harry asked. He hadn't seen anything about it in the paper. But he'd barely read any part of the paper, and the match had ended near enough to the deadline for the morning issue. He suspected that the news would be in the evening paper.

"That's an interesting question," Titus responded. "And honestly, for a while there, I didn't think he was going to do it."

"Seriously?" Harry asked. "I mean I didn't quite get why he wanted to have you there. But I thought Davis was gone immediately."

"Me too," Titus responded. "But it took forever to get to the point."

"You two are going to spend all morning talking about quidditch, are you not?" Gabrielle asked from somewhere next to Harry. He wasn't particularly sure when she'd slid next to him.

"Probably," Titus admitted.

"If that is the case than I am going to take a shower," Gabrielle said.

"Oh come on," Titus responded. "You don't smell that bad."

"Better than you, at any rate," Gabrielle countered. Harry blinked a bit and looked at her, wondering if he actually heard what he thought he heard.

"Well done!" Titus just smiled. Gabrielle blushed at the praise and looked away from the beater.

"Really?" she asked.

"Oh yes," Titus said.

"Thank you," Gabrielle responded. But then she took her water and walked toward the stairs and her room. Harry watched her go, letting his eyes linger on her incredibly nice cotton shorts for longer than he should have.

"What was that about?" Harry asked after she'd left.

"She didn't understand how we were friends when all we ever did was insult each other," Titus said.

"So you were attempting to explain that none of it was serious?" Harry asked.

"Essentially," Titus responded.

"And you took it upon yourself to teach her how to banter, then?" Harry asked.

"Seemed easier than trying to explain in verbatim," Titus said.

"Because all I really needed was more people that talk to me like Titus Button," Harry scoffed.

"Exactly!" Titus responded happily. "See, now if she wasn't showering that would have been a perfect example!"

"So anyway, getting back on topic," Harry said.

"Davis?" Titus asked.

"Davis," Harry affirmed.

"Well Lunfrey started yelling. Mostly I think he just needed to vent. I didn't really pay that close of attention to it, if I'm honest. It was more entertaining to watch Davis turn various shades of red and purple.

"But I think he really just needed to vent. A lot about how you actually manage to lose by a thousand points with such talent on the roster. And why you would pull the league's best player after he was the only semblance of offense the team showed," Titus paused to take a sip of his water.

"I bet that went over well," Harry said.

"It did," Titus responded. "Davis went on a rant about how he was the coach and decisions on personnel were entirely down to him. Apparently that was written into his contract at some point."

"Probably a smart move," Harry said.

"Probably. Especially with an owner like Lunfrey. But anyway, he went on about that for a while. Lunfrey calmed down and the two spent some time discussing the details of the match. Lunfrey noticed more things than I'd have given him credit for. He may not be quite as brain dead as I'd assumed.

"Davis argued with him on pretty much every detail. I think it was probably an hour of solid debate where I didn't say a damn thing," Titus sighed.

"Sounds entertaining," Harry commented.

"It wasn't," Titus responded. "I miss being on a good team where crap like that didn't happen."

"Me too," Harry sighed. "But you still have three hours of meeting to cover."

"Where's Eva?" Titus asked. "She'd just going to ask me the same questions."

"Haven't seen her since last night," Harry said.

"Check her room?" Titus asked.

"I'm not going in there, she'll hex me," Harry countered.

"Good point," he sighed.

"So you'll just have to tell the story twice, or you can make her ask Lunfrey. I'm sure he'll have some sort of team meeting to discuss everything. He seems like the type to do that."

"That'll be fun to sit through," Titus laughed.

"Yes," Harry said. "Maybe we should be less dicks about it and just smile and be happy that we're professional athletes." When Harry finished speaking the two players just exchanged a brief glance, before shaking their heads.

"Anyway," Titus said, getting back to the point. "He then spent the next hour or so whining about how you were uncooperative, and did not have any interest in sticking with the game plan, and only worried about yourself."

"An hour on that?" Harry laughed.

"An hour on that," Titus affirmed.

"What did he say about you?" Harry asked.

"Nothing. I don't think he had a big enough pair to actually say something while I was there to defend myself."

"So that was about another hour," Titus said.

"You let Davis trash me to the owner for an hour?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Titus said.

"Thanks for that," Harry responded.

"Well you could tell he was just raving. I figured it was better to just let him go. He spent about a half hour on how Eva was ruining team chemistry and Cora's development. Lunfrey made a funny comment about how he didn't think that having Toivanen play seeker certainly wasn't going to help her cause," Titus chuckled at the memory.

"Davis loved that?"

"Led to another half hour of ranting about how he was responsible for all personnel decisions," Titus said.

"And you're just sitting there, quietly, through all of this?" Harry asked.

"Pretty much," Titus said. "Lunfrey asked me a few questions but nothing that required an extensive answer. Often it was just to counter whatever excuse Davis had some up with. All of my answers usually just led to more ranting from Davis."

"Sounds fun," Harry said.

"Was," Titus smiled. "But anyway, after that last bit Lunfrey fired him. Davis told him he didn't have grounds to do that and they started having a bit of an argument there. Lunfrey did most of the yelling. And eventually he told Davis to just pack up his office and leave. They argued a bit more and he repeated it. Eventually Davis left and that was it."

"That was it?" Harry frowned.

"Yes," Titus said. "Well, we had a brief conversation after. But it wasn't really about anything important."

"How could there not be anything important in that conversation?" Harry asked.

"Well he just reiterated that he hoped we would talk about the future of the team together at some point in the near future. And that he'd be interested on our opinions of possible coaches. Although he did want to make it clear that he would not be picking a coach purely on our preference. But he wanted to see the type of coach we would most like to play for," Titus explained.

"Makes sense," Harry said. He knew Lunfrey couldn't give the impression that he was catering to the star players. Because as soon as he did that there would be articles about how Titus Button and Harry Potter were secretly running the Falcons. And those were never easy questions for an owner or general manager to answer.

"And after that he asked if I'd be willing to run practices for the next couple of times while he works on hiring a new coach. He said the entire assistant staff was hired by Davis and he was going to talk to them today to see who would be willing to stay," Titus said.

"So he made you captain then?" Harry asked.

"No," Titus said. "And I didn't ask."

"Really?" Harry asked.

"He seemed to have enough on his plate. I figured leading by example would be better than worrying about a uniform decoration," Titus said. Harry thought that was surprisingly mature for his friend, but he just nodded.

"You think that's going to work," Harry laughed.

"It did in Ballycastle," Titus said.

"Really?" Harry teased. "I always just assumed that Quigley gave up wanting to lead and the coach hated the other chasers."

"Well that certainly helped," Titus admitted.

"You're so lucky we aren't the same age," Harry laughed. Titus knew that he was referring to what their positions on the team would be if they had the same amount of experience. Of course, Titus also knew that Harry had no interest in leading the team.

"Yeah, because then we'd have wound up on different teams," Titus affirmed.

"Well that would have been disappointing and all, but I'm sure I'd have managed," Harry said.

"I don't know," Titus countered. "You were kind of a lost little loner before you started hanging out with me."

"I'm sure I'd have found a place to fit in eventually," Harry deadpanned. He actually hadn't minded the time he spent at Ballycastle where he didn't pay much attention to his teammates. Sure, he was happy that he and Titus became pals, but there was something to be said for the solitude.

"Nah, you'd have given it up and gone off and lived on some tropical island with like four supermodels in some weird haremesque relationship that no one actually understands. But everyone would just shrug and go 'hey he's Harry Potter, he should have an orgy with every beautiful, mythical being without question,'" Titus said.

"So I'd just spend every day like I spend the offseason?" Harry deadpanned.

"Exactly!" Titus responded. He then noticed the aluminum foil covered pans in the corner and wandered over to them. He peeled the foil off of one and then almost squealed with glee. "Aww, you made us brownies!"

"Nope," Harry said. "Gabrielle made them. And the cake."

"There's cake?" Titus asked, he had a rather large brownie in his hand and was proceeding to make a rather impressive mess on his face with it.

"Pan next to it," Harry said.

"Awesome," Titus said as he kept gorging himself.

"Indeed. Both are pretty good, too," Harry said.

"I knew you brought the Frenchie home for good reason. And here I just thought you had a thing for athletic blondes with perfect asses," Titus said, referencing a few of Harry's past conquests.

"Doesn't everyone?" Harry teased.

"Personally I prefer darker hair," Titus said.

"You just want to bang Eva," Harry said.

"Yes," Titus responded.

"Knew it," Harry laughed.

"Maybe she'll get traded again," Titus joked, implying that he wouldn't touch her purely because they were teammates, and that was never a particularly good idea.

"Maybe," Harry affirmed.

"Well you do anything entertaining last night while I was sitting in a cramped office and really wanting nothing more than a drink?" Titus asked. He'd somehow managed to find a plate, and had stated eating a rather large piece of cake.

"Not really. Just stayed up late chatting with Gabrielle while she baked," Harry said.

"How nice of you," Titus smirked. Harry suspected that his friend was having a difficult time pulling his mind out of the gutter. So he decided to be blunt with it.

"I think she may have a serious problem," Harry said.

"You mean other than having her entire family disappear?" Titus asked dryly.

"Other than that," Harry affirmed.

"Well what's up with her now?" Titus sighed. Harry could tell that his friend didn't really want to be having this conversation. Deep down, he knew that Titus wouldn't think it was his problem. And he was probably right, it wasn't his problem. But Harry had never been able to just let something go. No matter how hard he tried.

"I think she has an eating disorder," Harry said. "I've been reading up on them."

"Really now?" Titus asked. He just kept eating his cake and didn't seem shocked by the news.

"Yes," Harry said, referring more to the fact that he'd been reading, rather than the suspected problem.

"And you've decided that?" Titus asked.

"Well she doesn't really eat. She's really skinny, and she seems fairly adverse to food," Harry said.

"So you think she's anorexic? I don't recall her sneaking off to the bathroom after any meal. And I certainly haven't ever seen her over eat," Titus said. Harry was a little but surprised that his friend could identify the three main disorders.

"Yet she made a cake and a pan of brownies?" Titus countered.

"She claimed that she did it to make us feel better," Harry said.

"Well it's working," Titus said.

"I don't think this is really a joking matter, Titus," Harry said. He didn't quite mean for his tone to shift to something as angry as it did.

"Yeah, she's thin, Harry," Titus said, rather curtly. "But you don't really know anything about her."

"She's nowhere near the size her sister was at the same age," Harry said. He remembered Fleur in her swimsuit well enough from the second task. The image was not particularly similar to Gabrielle standing in the mirrors in the studio in her swimsuit.

"Perhaps not," Titus commented. "But she's not her sister."

"I guess not," Harry said. "But don't you think she might have an issue."

"Past a perfectionist instructor and the loss of her family? No." Titus said.

"Why not?" Harry asked through gritted teeth.

"Harry," Titus sighed. "She just went for a five mile run with me. When she asked to go I almost laughed at her. I didn't think there was a chance she'd manage to keep up."

"So?" Harry asked.

"So? By the end of the run she was less winded than I was. And I've got the strangest feeling that I was spending more time trying to keep up with her than she was with me. She's in better shape than probably the both of us," Titus explained. Harry just stared at him. He wasn't particularly sure just why that mattered.

"So?" Harry asked again.

"So people with anorexia typically don't have the energy to run five miles, or dance for hours on end," Titus commented.

"And when did you become an expert?" Harry asked.

"I'm not," Titus said. "But, well, you remember Tracey Davis?"

"Sure," Harry said. He remembered the Slytherin girl in his year well enough. He'd even seen her a couple time post Hogwarts, as she was one of Daphne's friends and they'd wound up at the occasional gathering together.

"She was anorexic," Titus said. "My fifth year, the dementor year, Pomfrey gave everyone in Slytherin a lecture on it because of her. Spent quite a long time going over what to look for and how we could help her out. It was an altogether unpleasant experience. Apparently her mother had always been harsh about weight. And not being perfect in that sense for her parents was something that frightened her to no end. So with the dementors around, she was constantly feeling she was too fat and so she just stopped eating."

"And you're applying that to this?" Harry asked.

"No. I'm just saying that. I wound up dating Tracy during my seventh year. And she talked about it on occasion. Mostly when I asked why she would always monitor exactly what she was eating. She'd talk about how awful she felt during those months. How she'd always feel sick, have a headache, have no energy, have no strength. I don't see any of that from Gabrielle," Titus said.

"I guess not. But she does take some sort of supplemental appetite suppressor every day," Harry said.

"Well, that probably helps rather than hurts," Titus responded.

"Pomfrey didn't like the fact that she'd been on it for a few years," Harry said.

"So it's all probably linked to her dancing," Titus said, drawing the conclusion faster than Harry would have suspected.

"Probably," Harry admitted.

"And look, Harry, I took her to get some breakfast after the walk. She ate a poached egg and some toast with jam. Sure, not a large breakfast, but she ate it and seemed to rather enjoy it. I suspect she wanted more. I don't think Tracey ever wanted more," Titus said. Harry just frowned.

"I still don't like it," he said.

"Yeah, well, that's just what I saw. By the way we're taking her and Mathieu to Moo-Squack on Saturday. She's apparently never had a big greasy cheeseburger and I told her that I would fix that."

"And she agreed?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Titus said. "Without really much convincing." And Harry couldn't help but think of why she wouldn't even take a bite of cake or a brownie without him prodding if she'd agree to eat a burger with Titus Button. Hell, she'd even made a plan to do something involving food with Titus. She'd avoided even attempting to be near food when she was with him. Even at the Café in Bordeaux she'd tried to claim she wasn't hungry.

In fact, all he could really remember her saying was that she wasn't hungry, whether it was when he wanted to order breakfast at the hotel in Bulgaria, or in Bordeaux, or whenever he asked if she wanted food in Falmouth.

And those words had stuck out on the pages that Pomfrey had sent him. That she would likely constantly have that excuse. No matter what he did. That it was one of the hardest things to get the patient to admit.

But she'd gotten food with Titus, and she'd agreed to get more food with Titus. Harry pressed his lips together and wondered just what he'd done wrong. Thankfully a thought popped into his head.

"We agreed to meet with Lunfrey on Saturday night," Harry said.

"Well, drat," Titus responded, not sounding the least bit disappointed. "I guess you can go to that if you want. But I'm going to Moo-Squack and enjoying the best burger in the country." Harry just shook his head. But he couldn't help the smile that came over him. The Ballycastle restaurant certainly had a good burger.

And part of him didn't think it was such a good idea to let Titus and Gabrielle go anywhere together, even if Gabrielle's boyfriend was along for the ride. He knew his friend wouldn't do anything. But reporters were never quite as kind to Titus and anyone in his company as they were to Harry.

"I guess we can cancel on him. We'll probably have a busy practice beforehand, anyway. And I suspect he'll just want to talk more to us after he's hired a new coach," Harry said.

"My thoughts exactly," Titus said. "And anyway, they're apparently announcing the English National Team on Saturday night. I think it's probably best if we're not around Lunfrey at that moment."

"What, you don't want to know how much they're going to sell England Button jerseys for?" Harry teased.

"No," Titus said. "I really don't."

"Either do I," Harry agreed. Titus cleaned his empty cake plate with a flick of his wand and put it back in the drawer. He made sure both the brownies and cake were properly sealed before turning back to his friend.

"And, look, Harry," he started. Harry could sense he was going to attempt to be serious for a moment or two. "You're probably right to be concerned. I think she could probably stand to put a few pounds on. But, from what I've seen, her diet seems fairly regimented."

"You're right," Harry said. "It does." He was reminded of Madame Fay mentioning a food sheet. And he realized he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about at that point. And he wasn't sure what just what that would entail.

"So if you're really concerned, well, you should just talk to her about it. I'm sure she'll talk to you. It'll be uncomfortable, but you may just get some answers."

"I planned on it," Harry said. "But I wanted to learn more about it before I approached her."

"Smart," Titus agreed.

"You really don't think she has an issue?" Harry asked. Titus just seemed to pause and stare at him for a moment.

"I'm not like you, Harry," Titus said. "I don't see someone and think of all the ways I could probably help them. I'm not sure how you manage to do it, to be honest. So I don't think we're approaching this from the same angle."

"I know," Harry said. He and Titus had had this conversation before. Titus admitted to admiring the fact that Harry would go out of his way to help people, even ones he barely knew, purely because he was able to. Titus himself had never really been quite empathetic enough to try that. "But you didn't answer my question."

"I think she has more than one issue," Titus admitted. "But I think food intake is, at worst, third on the list. I'd put it behind both the lost family and the fact that she seems torn about whether to not she actually enjoys dancing."

"Speaking of which," Harry said. "Did she speak to you about either of those things?"

"No," Titus said. "When I brought up dancing at breakfast she changed the subject."

"I should have a talk with her," Harry sighed. "I think she only agreed to continue the lessons because I told her it was probably a good idea."

"Well you go do that," Titus said. "I did not get nearly enough sleep last night, and had to work way too hard on my morning exercise. So I'm going to go shower and then nap."

"Have fun," Harry laughed.

"I will," Titus responded before walking up toward his room. Harry watched him go, the beater's words ringing through his head. Could he have simply been thinking too much into things?

He knew that it all came from Daphne muttering that the girl was too thin. Maybe she did just need to put on a couple of pounds. And maybe she would after her life settled into more of a routine. But, Harry thought, it had been more than a few weeks. Things, for him, were almost back to normal. So she had to be in a similar situation herself.

Harry just shook his head and knew that he would do all he could. Even if that just meant keeping an eye on her for the next couple of days, and making a judgment from there. Still, he couldn't resign himself to there not being something more sinister at play.

Friday's practice was like nothing the Falmouth Falcons had experienced in years. Only the team's keeper coach stayed on staff with the departure of Davis and the other coaches. Harry knew that Lunfrey would have his work cut out for him. But he had until Tuesday, when the Falcons would play the Tornadoes, to assemble a coaching staff.

And really, he could always hire on friends and cronies for a match or two while everything panned out. He just needed to makes sure they met the allotted number of coaches for the match.

But that Friday they'd practiced with just one coach. Titus had run everything, well, at least after Lunfrey had given a speech about how the team had decided to go in a different direction and he felt It was best if a new coach was brought in.

Titus led the players out to the pitch. And he organized the drills and seemed to be flying around, everywhere, shouting encouragement, seeing plays, commenting on what occurred and many other things of that nature. He seemed to catch every detail. Harry couldn't help but smile as he saw Titus beaming at the players. His friend was doing what he did best.

And everything during the practice just felt lighter and easier. By the time they were finished, in about half the time of a Ralph Davis practice, the entire team felt better. They were actually laughing and joking with each other as they returned to the locker room.

Lunfrey did not come in after practice. In fact, he'd left the stadium about five minutes into the practice, obviously deciding that he should let Titus do his thing, rather than interfere. It worked out for the best.

The team actually hung out in the locker room after the practice, too. Which was a nice touch, Harry thought. It was something that they hadn't done in his tenure with the team. Harry would have probably stayed longer. But he promised Gabrielle he'd head home after the match so she wouldn't be alone when Matheiu got there.

He and Titus both found that to be a little bit of a strange request. After all, what sixteen year old couple did not want to be unsupervised, especially after not seeing each other for nearly a month?

Eva claimed to understand where she was coming from. She gave the boys some sort of lecture on how the French girl was simply trying to make sure she did not take advantage of their trust or something. If both the boys were honest, they didn't pay that close of attention while the chaser talked.

Regardless, Harry left as the mood in the locker room was in full swing. Someone, he thought Sarah Foster, made a joke about having to get home to his wife. But Harry didn't dignify it with a comment.

Gabrielle was nowhere to be found when he entered the house. He wandered around the lower level, wondering just what she was up to. But he did not find here there. He hadn't really expected to. But he thought there was at least a small chance that she was practicing in her studio.

When he didn't find her, Harry simply waited to see if she'd make an appearance. But she didn't, so when Mathieu was due to arrive in about fifteen minutes he wandered up to her room. The door was closed over, he could see a bit of light streaming through. But he knocked anyway.

"Come in," Gabrielle said. He pushed the door open and looked at her, mostly seeing her reflection in the full view mirror in her room. She was wearing a green dress. He couldn't help but think that it was one of the few times she would wear anything that wasn't blue or purple.

The skirt of the dress fell down to her knees, her upper body was completely covered. It appeared to be semi-formal, and far more formal than Harry would have suspected for the occasion. She'd also done her hair up in an elaborate bun, much like the one she danced with, but this time she'd allowed a couple of the silky blonde strands to slip out along the sides and fall around her ears.

In addition to all of that, her fingernails were painted a green that matched the dress she was wearing. He suspected, and he had no reason for suspecting it, but he did, none the less, that her toes also matched her fingers.

Her cheeks looked very pale, but her lips were accented in a pink that was only a few shades darker than her normal color. She had some green eye shadow on to complete the look. Harry tilted his head to the side and just stared at her for a moment.

"Mathieu is going to be here in a few moments," he said quietly as he stared at her.

"I know," Gabrielle responded.

"So we should probably go down to the fire," Harry said.

"I am not ready," Gabrielle frowned. Harry just stared at her for a moment longer.

"How are you not ready?" he asked.

"I do not know" Gabrielle admitted. "I just do not feel ready." She was staring at herself in the mirror. Every now and then she would shift her weight around and examine one part of herself in the mirror.

"Well you look ready to go to a ball," Harry said. "Was something wrong with jeans and a tank top?"

"Mathieu likes formality," Gabrielle admitted.

"I see," Harry said. "Well you have the look down."

"I do not think he will like the eye makeup," Gabrielle frowned. She leaned more toward the mirror as if to inspect it more closely.

"Well he's an idiot if he doesn't. It goes nicely with the outfit," Harry said. If he was honest, he was indifferent on the whole concept. But he figured being complimentary was better a better option than bringing that up.

"I thought so too," Gabrielle said, agreeing with his comment on how it matched her dress.

"So are you ready?" Harry asked again. Gabrielle just frowned into the mirror.

"I do not know," she repeated. "Do I look kissable?"

"What?" Harry asked. He hadn't expected that. She pouted a bit at his lack of an answer.

"My mother always said that whenever you dress up for a boy you should try to look kissable," Gabrielle explained. She seemed to struggle with the vocabulary, but she got the point across.

"I see," Harry said. Again, that did not seem to be a satisfactory response for the girl.

"So," she said, turning back toward him. Her eyes focused on him. She took two steps closer to him, her cheeks flushing a pink that matched her lipstick choice. "Would you want to kiss me?" Her voice was little more than a whisper.

Harry couldn't quite believe what she was asking him. And he knew there was no good way to answer it. Because if he answered it in the affirmative, she may get the wrong idea. She may think his words mean something different than he intended. And if he answered in the negative, she would likely just feel crushed. Harry swallowed hard and thought about his answer, almost dreading opening his mouth to give it.

"Yes," he answered, far more honestly than he knew he should have. He tried to push Titus's comments about blondes from his mind. But Gabrielle just smiled at him, her entire face brightening.

"Then I am ready," she said. The words echoed through Harry's head. He heard them repeated over and over. And what she was ready for, in Harry's mind, was completely different than what she was actually ready for. And he let his thoughts wander for a few moments too long. He barely even noticed when Gabrielle walked past him, heading downstairs to meet her boyfriend. But he caught up with her after only a few steps.

Mathieu arrived precisely on time. He stepped out of the fire, a small bag with a weekends worth of supplies slung loosely over his shoulder. Gabrielle stood right by the fire, a few feet from where he would step out. Harry hid himself a bit in the corner of the room.

He was a good looking teenager, Harry thought. He was tall and thin with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. He was probably an inch shorter than Harry. But Harry couldn't help but notice that there was nothing to him. If it came down to it, he suspected that Gabrielle would be able to thrash him.

But he also understood just what she meant by him liking formal. He wore a formal looking pair of dark pants, and a stiff button-up shirt. It reminded Harry of the type of outfit his agent would have to pick out for an occasion where he and Titus couldn't show up in team wear. Well, she'd only have to pick it out if she cared that the showed up in team wear.

Of course, she wasn't doing much for her cause, either. As she just stood there, waiting, and smiling meekly.

"Gabrielle!" Mathieu said as he stepped from the fire. She opened her arms to him.

"Mathieu," she responded. And they hugged. He leaned down and kissed her. Harry didn't care that he felt like a voyeur. The entire action looked rather contained and careful, though. And a moment later they broke apart.

"I missed you," he said.

"Me too," Gabrielle responded quietly.

"And I am so sorry about your parents. And your sister. Gabrielle, I wish that there was something I could say," he started. Harry noticed that he decided to speak in English. He wondered if the two of them had discussed that before he arrived.

"You have apologized enough for that," Gabrielle said with a frown.

"But in floo and letters does not quite do it justice," Mathieu argued.

"I guess," Gabrielle shrugged her shoulders. "I do not want to talk about it."

"I understand," Mathieu said. He leaned down and kissed her again, very softly. When they broke apart, Gabrielle turned to Harry and spoke.

"Mathieu, this is Harry Potter," she said, gesturing to him. Mathieu stepped past her and offered his hand.

"An honor to meet you, Sir," he said formally.

"Gabrielle has told me a lot about you," Harry said, taking his hand and shaking it. The boy had a rather limp grip. Harry did his best to not frown at it.

"Good things, I hope," Mathieu smiled. Harry had heard about a hundred variations of that line in the last year, so he didn't justify it with a comment.

"We've set up a room for you down the hall if you'd like to drop your stuff off and take a moment to get situated," Harry said. Gabrielle looked a little surprised. She probably suspected that he would have just taken one of the second floor guest rooms that Sophia and Josephine had occupied a few weeks earlier. But Harry figured that placing him on the first floor would at least make him work for it. And having to sneak past all three of their rooms to get to his girlfriend was certainly earning it.

"I would like that," Mathieu said. "I'm sure Gabrielle can show me to it." He turned his gaze toward her. She still looked fairly startled but nodded.

"Of course," she said. And the two of them walked down the hall toward the first floor guest room.

"And keep the door open," Harry yelled after them. He intended for it to be a joke, but it didn't sound as funny aloud as it had in his head. The French teens obeyed him, though. As he did not hear the door to the bedroom close as he waited in the living room.

The two teens emerged about a half hour later. Gabrielle looked a little ruffled, and her lipstick was smeared. However, she wasn't blushing like Harry was used to seeing, especially after any form of contact. So he assumed that they'd kept it pretty tame. Also Mathieu looked exactly the same as he had when he entered the room, except he'd left his bag.

They exchanged pleasantries again. Mostly Harry just watched the couple. Gabrielle stood next to him and didn't say a whole lot. Mostly she let him speak for her. Harry could tell that Mathieu liked to talk and Gabrielle had no problem with letting him talk.

Eventually they decided to head into town for a dinner date. Harry smiled and told them to have a good time. He was tempted to give Gabrielle some coins, to pay, but he figured that Mathieu should pay. So he just watched them leave. He could hear Mathieu's voice ringing through the entry hall as they did. He was regaling her with stories of his summer so far. Gabrielle responded to them at the appropriate time.

Once they left, Harry wasn't sure what to think. In his first few minutes meeting the French boy, his first thought was that he'd certainly met more annoying teenagers.

But Harry wasn't sure how much he liked that Gabrielle just seemed to follow him, and let him lead. She seemed to simply agree to what he wanted to do. But perhaps she was just being a good host, and deciding to show him part of Falmouth. After all, that was what he would have done if a visitor was there to see him.

So really, he decided that he shouldn't think too much about it. He debated flooing Daphne and asking if she wanted to go to dinner. But he decided that it would be best if he just stayed home and waited for the young couple.

And so he waited for them to return, reading the world cup speculation in the evening paper and thinking that there were far worse ways to spend an evening.

Author's Note: As always thanks for reading and reviewing. I do appreciate it. The best way to contact me is typically through PM on the website. I try to respond to every one of those that I receive and am willing to discuss just about anything.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Zaion Indulias for the beta work on this chapter.

Chapter 13

Harry and Daphne emerged from the studio late in the afternoon on Saturday. He'd spent far too long there, but it was something that he'd been putting off for far too long. They wandered into the London streets side by side.

"What the hell was wrong with the first ten takes?" Harry sighed. Daphne just paused and stared at him for a moment.

"Well one through about four you sounded like you didn't care. Then five and six you just sounded pissed off, seven I thought was okay but apparently you didn't say 'comet' correctly, eight and nine again you sounded like you'd rather strangle the guy taking the audio than convince anyone to buy a broom," Daphne responded dryly. She counted each one off of her fingers as she spoke.

"Thanks for the support," Harry laughed.

"You're welcome," Daphne responded. She was wearing a dark skirt and blouse with her hair done up formally. "Here I thought you were being intentionally terrible because you knew just how much I adore working on Saturdays."

"I am always looking out for you, Daph," Harry nodded.

"If that were the case than you wouldn't have pushed this off to the absolute furthest possible date," Daphne sighed. "I swear I've been getting six calls a day from Comet trying to see when you'd plug the broom."

"Sorry," Harry said. "I've been busy."

"Sure you have," Daphne laughed. "That excuse works so much better when you realize that I know your exact schedule."

"But not what I do for fun," Harry countered.

"If you were busy purely with things that you do for fun, then you clearly weren't busy and I'm going to be very annoyed at the fact that this took up a full Saturday," Daphne explained in a perfectly evened tone. Harry just smiled.

"Well you were the one that said as soon as possible," Harry smirked, remembering the floo call from the evening before, when he was busy thinking more about Gabrielle and Mathieu than anything else.

"I didn't think they'd agree to the next day," Daphne laughed.

"Well maybe you should have said Monday was a better option," Harry responded.

"You're probably right," Daphne sighed.

"You do realize I'm perfectly capable of going to these things myself. As well as delivering a few lines without your coaching," Harry said.

"You failed pretty miserably at the delivering of lines part just now," Daphne countered.

"Well you know how much I love doing these things on a Saturday," he used her excuse. Judging from her practiced smile, she at least appreciated it a little.

"Anyway, I come to these things because I suspect you're likely going to agree to something without getting compensated for it if I'm not here to be your representation. And I feel like it's stealing to not be at one with how much I make off of them," Daphne said. Harry sort of suspected that. She'd always been rather overprotective of both he and Titus. But the two of them were the vast majority of her income, so she had every right to be.

"Well it's always nice to know I'm covered and to not have to think too hard about every question that someone asks of me," Harry admitted. Daphne just smiled at him. It was a passive smile that indicated she understood he appreciated the sentiment.

"It is the least I can do," Daphne smiled. They were walking back toward his London home, purely because it would be easier to use the floo than apparate. While Harry never really had an issue with long-distance apparation, many other witches and wizards did. Using the floo to get back to Falmouth would simply be easier.

"Do you have any idea what they're doing about brooms for the World Cup?" Harry asked.

"No," Daphne said.

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Really," Daphne affirmed. "I haven't heard much of anything about it. Typically one manufacturer supplies a set of brooms for the team. I suspect the Ministry is working out the details of such a contract right now. I believe last time it went to Nimbus."

"So probably Nimbus again?" Harry asked.

"I have no idea," Daphne said. "And I'm not in a position where I can even manage an educated guess on that."

"You have to have heard something," Harry teased. Purely because he knew that Daphne tended to have surprisingly good connections at the ministry. He couldn't help but wonder exactly who she knew.

"Oh sure," Daphne nodded. "I've heard many things. I just don't think a single thing I've heard could be construed as valuable information. I suspect that it's all just hearsay and speculation."

"And both of those things are fun when I am not the target of them," Harry said.

"How can you be the target of hearsay?" Daphne asked.

"Quiet you," Harry said.

"Anyway, I suspect that if you make the World Cup roster for England, you'll find yourself on a broom pretty much identical to everything you've ever flown in league play," Daphne said. "And I suspect you'll just add it to your collection after and never spare it a thought again once the matches are over."

"Probably," Harry admitted.

"So was that question even worth asking?" she asked.

"Of course," Harry responded. "But now I have a more important question."

"What's that?" She asked, sighing as they turned onto Grimmauld Place. They'd be to his house in a matter of moments. They should have probably just apparated to outside his house. But they both enjoyed walking through the late afternoon London streets. And it wasn't that far of a walk.

"If?" Harry asked.

"What?" Daphne asked, not seeming to understand the question.

"If I make the World Cup roster for England?" Harry quoted her. She just looked over her shoulder at him.

"Oh, what, confident that you're a lock?" Daphne asked.

"I am the best seeker in the world," Harry said, confidently.

"Oh, are you?" Daphne asked. "Can you prove that?"

"Well I am the highest paid seeker in the world," Harry said.

"That does not necessarily mean you're the best," Daphne responded.

"No, it doesn't. But it doesn't hurt. I suspect that I will prove it. Especially when I'm put on the roster for England," Harry said.

"Don't get your hopes up," Daphne sighed.

"You really don't think that I'll make it?" Harry asked.

"I honestly have no idea. I know Parker is senior to you, and backed up Fredericks on the last World Cup roster. And I know that the Department of Magical Games and Sports often plays seniority and avoids change. And frankly, I haven't heard a thing either way about the roster. But I wouldn't put it past the idiots in charge to put out the same roster as last time with a few of the retired players taken off," Daphne explained. Harry frowned a little bit. He'd always know that was a possibility, but he thought it a bit hard to believe that the two league M.V.P trophies he'd won may sway them in another direction.

Of course, Parker with the Magpies also had one of those trophies. And he had played in a World Cup before, even if it was in one where England was completely overmatched. Maybe they would determine that experience was a more important factor.

Personally, he couldn't fathom how they could come to that decision. But it wasn't his decision to make. And he knew he was more than a little bit biased about the entire situation.

"I have a hard time seeing that happening," Harry said.

"That's because you have a very high opinion of yourself," Daphne said.

"Well I like to think I earned it," Harry teased.

"You have," Daphne said. "But that does not mean that the selection committee is going to see it that way."

"What do you think, personally, about the whole thing?" Harry asked. Daphne looked at him for a moment.

"I don't really care," Daphne said.

"Nonsense, you care about everything," Harry said. And he knew it was true. She always had an opinion on any topic, especially ones that involved Harry and Titus.

"If you wind up on the English National Team I suspect you'll see a modest bump in income from sale of promotional items. You'll also be slightly annoyed at having to make all of the public appearance that are associated with a national team. You'll complain about that to me and act like there's actually something I can do about it. Which there isn't," Daphne said.

"I have no idea what that has to do with the question I just asked," Harry commented.

"You wouldn't," Daphne countered.

"Not until you explain it to me!" Harry teased.

"Because that's not a waste of time," Daphne laughed.

"Well we have time," Harry said.

"I guess," Daphne sighed. "Mostly it will just result in more work for me. And since I don't make a cut off of Harry Potter merchandise, it's more work for no additional compensation."

"Lazy," Harry said.

"Pragmatic," Daphne countered. "On a purely personal level,, though I do hope you make the team as I know it would mean a lot to you. And I do want to see England do well."

"And Harry Potter gives England a better chance than James Parker?" Harry asked.

"Considerably, in my opinion," Daphne said.

"So you're going to be pulling for me," Harry teased.

"Oh of course," Daphne responded. Her words betrayed no emotion, despite the positive tone. He always marveled at her ability to sound completely dry. "I may even buy a Harry Potter jersey."

"If you want one so badly I'll just give you a game worn one," Harry said.

"Only if you wash it like five times so it doesn't smell like you. And shrink it so it looks sexy rather than like I'm wearing a tent," Daphne responded.

"I can probably arrange that," Harry said.

"I'm sure you could," Daphne sighed as they stepped into his house. Harry just walked straight toward the main living room where the floo was. Daphne followed him.

"Did you have any plans tonight?" he asked as they each approached the fire.

"What, actually asking, not just leading me to the bedroom?" Daphne teased. Harry smiled at her, but actually felt himself blush.

"Actually Titus and I are taking Gabrielle and her boyfriend to dinner. Was wondering if you wanted to come along" Harry said.

"Oh Mathieu showed up?" Daphne said.

"Do I even want to know?" Harry asked.

"What? How I know about her boyfriend and how she was afraid as to why he hadn't contacted her right away and how she didn't know how to really deal with him?" Daphne asked. The way she spoke made Harry feel like he should have probably already known all of that information.

"Yes, that," he said, not particularly enjoying being patronized, but he also knew that good things tended to happen when he let her have her way.

"We talked about him when we went to dinner," Daphne said. "Seemed like a normal teenage boy to me."

"Should I be worried about him?" Harry asked.

"Why would you be worried about him?" Daphne countered.

"I don't know. I'm sort of responsible for her, I guess. Should I be worried about the two of them?" Harry asked, attempting to clarify his question.

"No more than you should worry about what any other set of teenagers gets up to," Daphne said.

"I'm not sure if that's comforting or not," Harry responded.

"What? Does the thought of little Ellie spending some quality alone time with Mathieu bother you?" Daphne teased.

"No of course not," Harry said quickly.

"You're cute when you try to lie through your teeth," Daphne said. Harry just glared at her for a moment.

"I just want to make sure that nothing bad happens to her," Harry said. And it only took him a moment to realize how silly that sounded, so he continued speaking rather than waiting for Daphne's response and the inevitable lecture he would have then received. "Like I don't want him to pile more crap onto her plate. She has enough she needs to worry about now."

"Like what?" Daphne asked.

"Her family, her dancing, her diet," Harry said quickly. He didn't really feel like discussing this in too much detail with her.

"Does this have to do with all the information you asked me to compile?" Daphne asked.

"Yes," Harry said. "But I'm not quite ready to say anything definitive with it. I'm still reading through everything. Pomfrey gave me a great deal to think about as well. Thanks for compiling it all, though."

"You're welcome," Daphne said.

"So should I be worried?" Harry asked again.

"I don't know," Daphne said. "When she spoke to me about him, I didn't get the feeling that she was really that interested with him. But I could have been wrong. We talked about him for a while."

"About what, specifically?" Harry asked.

"That wouldn't be any of your business," Daphne said. "Sixteen year old girls need to have a few secrets."

"Daphne," Harry sighed.

"If I thought it was important, Harry, I'd tell you," Daphne said. "But mostly I just told her things that every girl should know. And we talked about trying to figure out boys."

"I see," Harry said.

"So anyway, where are you taking them for dinner?" Daphne asked.

"Moo-Squack," Harry said.

"You're going to try to get a ballerina to eat one of those greasy burgers? I feel like I gain weight looking at them," Daphne said.

"Hey, it was Titus's idea. Apparently she accompanied him on a run one day and somehow the topic of a proper cheeseburger came up. Apparently Gabrielle has never had one. And so she agreed to come because she wanted to try one," Harry explained. He'd gotten most of that information from Titus at various intervals in the last day.

"So she has absolutely no idea what she's getting herself info," Daphne said.

"Correct," Harry responded.

"Well you make me feel bad that I have plans," Daphne said.

"Doing anything fun?" Harry asked.

"Of course, or else I wouldn't be bothering with it," Daphne said.

"Oh? So you actually enjoy all of the things I bother you with?" Harry responded.

"Depends on the nature of the bothering," Daphne responded with a little teasing smirk.

"Well just what are you planning on being bothered with tonight?" Harry asked.

"I'm meeting up with Hannah and Padma for some drinks," Daphne said. "And to discuss boys. And I think to get Hannah laid."

"And you didn't invite me?" Harry said, attempting to sound affronted by that.

"No. Strangely enough, we didn't," Daphne said.

"Well that's disappointing," Harry admitted.

"Only for you," Daphne said.

"Tell them I said 'Hello,'" Harry said.

"Sure thing," Daphne responded. They both knew full well that she wouldn't find a way to work that into normal conversation, and that the girls would never actually receive his sentiments. But he was simply being polite anyway. So it wasn't something that would actually bother him.

"And have a beer for me," Harry said.

"I'll have a vodka for you. I'm not drinking any disgusting beer," Daphne responded.

"Well that works just as well," Harry said.

"I know," Daphne responded. She grabbed some floo powder and proceeded to toss it into the fire. She gave her home address and stepped through. Harry was half tempted to follow her. But instead he decided to floo back to Falmouth.

He stepped out of the fire and into his Falmouth home. They'd set the floo to a back sitting room on the first floor so he had to walk toward the main area of the home, past the studio he'd created for Gabrielle, and the room where he kept all of his brooms.

He heard noise from the living room and wandered toward it to find Mathieu and Gabrielle on the couch. He was laying down, his eyes focused on the television in the room. Harry had been a little surprised when he found out Titus had one. But the beater was strangely fascinated by television. He had a rather impressive collection of DVDs as well.

Personally, Harry was pretty indifferent on the entire concept. But he did enjoy catching a program every now and then. And sometimes it was simply easier to watch the news than it was to read it. Titus had even convinced him to watch a couple of shows. And he enjoyed most of them, even if he didn't really bother to keep up with them. And of course there was always quidditch.

Although he found himself to be in the camp that preferred to listen to a sporting event on the wireless if he wasn't watching it live. But that didn't apply to many other in the community. Especially since some of the Muggle Borns had started to create their own wizarding broadcasting networks. Apparently once they'd figured out how to get the cameras to work properly things had gone off without a hitch.

Harry turned his attention back to the teenagers on the couch. Mathieu shifted a bit and looked up at him. He blushed but gave Harry a weak wave, lifting his hand off of Gabrielle's backside to do so. When he put it back down, he rested it on the small of her back.

Harry returned the wave and glanced at the television, mostly so he didn't have to look at either of them. But it was a commercial, and that didn't entertain him, so he looked back before he quite realized why he looked away in the first place.

Gabrielle appeared to be asleep. She was laying across Mathieu with her face buried in the crook of his shoulder as he watched the television. Her hair fell down back and fanned out a bit around them. Mathieu's other arm was wrapped around her waist.

Harry figured it was best to just not comment. He didn't say anything, because he also figured if Gabrielle was asleep, cuddling with her boyfriend, there was probably a reason for it. And he thought she worked too hard anyway, so it must have been nice to get some rest.

Harry wandered around the house for a few moments. Mostly he was looking for Titus to see what time his friend wanted to head to the restaurant for dinner and the selection show. But the Beater didn't appear to be around. He couldn't find Eva, either, but that was becoming a pretty common occurrence. And Harry wasn't particularly interested in where she was anyway.

So he decided to just wander around Falmouth for a while. He didn't really have anything better to do. He figured that he probably shouldn't have left two teenagers alone in the house. But Gabrielle did not strike him as the type to get up to anything. And she was passed out on the couch. And it helped that Mathieu looked pretty content in that situation as well. Not that Harry could hold that against him. He'd be pretty content in that situation as well.

The walk around Falmouth was pleasant. It was a warm afternoon and Harry just decided to do a turn around the harbor. Because he like looking at the people, the water, and the boats. He didn't really have any reasoning for it, he just enjoyed doing it.

He walked until he found an empty bench. He sat down for a few moments and just stared out over the sea. He didn't really think about anything. Part of _The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner_ ran through his head. Probably because of some project from elementary school. He knew he probably didn't remember the lines correctly.

After about twenty minutes of just sitting he proceeded to walk back to the home. He sauntered around in a large circle. A couple of people out and about recognized him, and he exchanged a few pleasantries with them. He only had to stop for one picture. He plastered on his fake smile, the one Gabrielle had mimicked, rather cutely, just a few nights before.

He wandered through a square on the way home. Past a few bulletin boards. He paused to take a peek and one of the flyers caught his attention. He laughed a little bit and grabbed one of the contact papers off the bottom of it, thinking that it was perhaps a perfect opportunity. He tucked it into his pocket and continued walking home.

When he walked back into the home Titus had returned. Judging from the Beater's appearance he'd been at the quidditch pitch. He caught his friend as he wandered out from the living room.

"Stupid lazy teenagers," Titus sighed.

"You're allowed to call people lazy?" Harry laughed.

"Valid point," Titus commented.

"What time did you want to leave?" Harry asked.

"As soon as I finish changing, if the sleepy Frenchies are awake," Titus said.

"Where were you?" Harry asked.

"Helping Jordan a bit. We're working on defensive positioning," Titus said.

"How's that going?" Harry asked. He remembered thinking that perhaps Jordan Wall would benefit from some tutelage from Titus.

"Slowly. But I think he's improving. We'll see. I'll try to make practice less terrible for him. I'm going to see if we can get Eva or Cora to take some runs at him in practice. See if he can adjust to that speed," Titus said. "To see if I can feel confident enough to leave him back on defense on occasion."

"You ever think of letting him pinch up into the attack and having you stay back on defense?" Harry suggested.

"Yes," Titus said. "I even brought the idea up with him. I didn't get the impression he was particularly interested in it. In fact, it seemed more like he was afraid of the quaffle."

"Well that doesn't help," Harry said.

"No, it doesn't," Titus sighed. "Daphne mention anything about the National Team?"

"She said no one has approached her and she has no idea what the roster is," Harry said. "So we'll find out in a few hours, I suspect. Although she did say it wouldn't surprise her if Parker was the starter."

"At seeker?" Titus asked, attempting to make sure that the two of them were on the same page.

"Yes," Harry said. "The committee always values experience in national matches. And Parker has it while I don't. And he's more of a pure seeker than I am." Of course, Daphne hadn't said that last bit. But Harry knew it was true, none the less. And he suspected whoever would be running the show would be interested in playing a more traditional style of quidditch.

"Did she mention anything about the beaters?" Titus asked.

"No," Harry said.

"Damn," Titus said. "Well can you do me a favor and make sure that Gabrielle and Mathieu actually get up?"

"Sure," Harry said. Titus wandered up the stairs toward his bedroom and Harry stepped back into the living area. Gabrielle was sitting up. She yawned and stretched her arms over her head. Mathieu stood and looked down at her.

"Oh so you two are awake," Harry said. Gabrielle nodded.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Around six thirty," Harry responded, knowing the selection show started in an hour, but that no information would probably be revealed until well after that.

"Oh," Gabrielle frowned. She turned to Mathieu. "You were supposed to wake me up at five!"

"You looked like you needed the rest," the boy responded. But he blushed and looked away from him. She pressed her lips together and looked around.

"Titus wanted to be at the restaurant already. I do not have time to change, do I?" she asked.

"Well if you wanted to I'm sure he'd understand. But I'm going like this," Harry said. He was just wearing a pretty basic t-shirt and jeans.

"Will I be appropriate in this?" she asked. Harry looked at her. She was dressed rather similarly to him. She had the same Ballycastle Bats t-shirt on that she'd worn when they were in Bulgaria, and a pair of light jeans.

"Go out in that?" Mathieu frowned. He was wearing dark jeans and a formal looking button up t-shirt. Harry half wanted to tell him that it was way too warm to be in that much clothing.

"I suppose it is not very nice," she said, looking down at her outfit. She blushed a little bit and Harry wanted to smack Mathieu upside the head. He wondered how the boy managed to have a girlfriend if he didn't see the appeal of a tight t-shirt and jeans.

"You look fantastic," Harry said. "I wouldn't worry about it. Moo-Squack isn't a formal establishment."

"Are you sure?" Gabrielle asked, looking up at him.

"Positive," Harry said.

"Okay," Gabrielle responded. Mathieu raised an eyebrow at her and looked rather unconvinced, but Harry thought it best to not comment on that.

"Everyone ready?" Titus asked as he wandered back into the room. He'd changed into a pair of shorts and a Falmouth Falcon polo shirt.

"Should be," Harry said.

"How are we getting there?" Gabrielle asked.

"Apparation," Titus said. "Considering I don't think that the Bats would be too pleased with us using the floo and Moo-Quack isn't on the floo network."

"Neither Gabrielle nor myself have our licenses," Mathieu said.

"Oh," Titus frowned. "Well that's going to make it more difficult. If only there were some way that I could like. Put my hand on your shoulder and then pop!" Titus reached toward the French boy and did just that. Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"Mathieu will not be happy with that," Gabrielle frowned.

"Titus won't care," Harry said.

"I suspect not," Gabrielle said. Harry turned to just look at her, taking a step closer to her. He noticed a silvery chain around her neck that led to a small blue gemstone. It looked understated, but rather nice, around her neck.

"I like your necklace," Harry said.

"Thank you," Gabrielle blushed. "Mathieu got it for me."

"He has good taste," Harry said.

"I like it," Gabrielle affirmed. Harry pressed his lips together before simply deciding to change the subject and actually get the two of them to Ballycastle before Titus came back looking for them.

"Have you ever apparated before?" Harry asked.

"You apparated me in Bordeaux," Gabrielle said pointedly. Harry remembered that when she said it. But it wasn't what he meant.

"I mean have you done it yourself before," He clarified.

"Yes," Gabrielle said. "We had lessons at the end of last year."

"Well pop us there, then," Harry said. He held his hand out to her.

"That is illegal!" Gabrielle gasped.

"So?" Harry said. "Practice makes perfect you know."

"I do not even know where we are going!" Gabrielle gasped.

"And you're going to let a little detail like that stop you?" Harry asked.

"Yes!" Gabrielle said.

"Oh come on? What's the worst that could happen?" Harry asked.

"I could splinch and kill you!" Gabrielle said, exasperatedly.

"Oh well, shit happens?" Harry said. Gabrielle just frowned at him.

"How can you be so cavalier about that!" Gabrielle said.

"Because you wouldn't splinch and kill me," Harry said.

"You do not know that!" Gabrielle frowned.

"Yes I do," Harry said. Gabrielle just frowned more at him and looked away.

"Will you just take me to the restaurant now?" Gabrielle sighed. Harry just smiled. He knew he was pushing her probably more than he should have. But he thought she was probably capable of far more than she knew. And he really just wanted to see how she would react.

"Of course," he said. He slid an arm around her and apparated them both to an alley in Ballycastle right near the restaurant. Gabrielle stepped away from him immediately.

"Where is the restaurant?" Gabrielle asked.

"Just around the corner. It's more of a bar than a restaurant, though," Harry said.

"I am not old enough to get into a bar," Gabrielle said.

"You're not going to have anyone ask your age tonight," Harry said.

"I doubt that," Gabrielle frowned. "I barely look sixteen." And Harry had no idea how to really respond to that. She was right. She did look younger than her age. And Harry had no idea how to assure her that wasn't the case. Or if he should even be attempting to assure her of something like that.

"Regardless," Harry said after a few moments of silence. "Order whatever you like. No one is going to ask you for your identification tonight."

"How do you know that?" Gabrielle said.

"Well, despite the trade, Ellie, I suspect the people of Ballycastle still rather like Titus and I," he smiled. "And I suspect we'll enjoy quite a few of the same perks that we had before."

"Do I even want to know?" Gabrielle asked. He wondered if she'd gotten that line from him, as he used it just about every time Titus did something silly.

"Probably," he responded. "Either way you'll be finding out in a few moments." He walked from the alley, leading her down the Ballycastle street. It was colder in the small Irish town, but that didn't bother him. He noticed Gabrielle shivered a little when the wind blew up the street. But other than that she made no indication of it annoying her either. It only took them a couple of moments to wander in to the bar.

It wasn't a very large bar. And there was only so much enchantment on it to make it bigger. Harry saw Titus over in the corner at the ornate wooden bar. He was standing behind Mathieu, who sat at one of the stools and looked a little bit alarmed. Harry walked Gabrielle through the mass of people and over to the stool next to her boyfriend. He directed her to sit and she did. A moment later the bartender wandered over. He was a part-owner of the establishment and in his fifties or sixties.

"Harry Potter!" he yelled over the din of the crowed.

"Glen!" Harry responded.

"And Titus Button!" the man yelled. "What brings the two of you back to Ballycastle?"

"The best burger in the country," Titus said. "I found out that our guests had never had the honor of having one. So I figured they may as well start with the best one!"

"I love it," Glen smiled. "What can I get for you to drink?"

"I'll have a Final Cauldron," Harry said.

"You're still drinking that wheat shit?" Titus scoffed.

"I like that wheat shit," Harry said.

"Give me a Mandrake Root," Titus said.

"You're still drinking that dark shit?" Harry commented idly.

"Hey, I like that dark shit," Titus said.

"And for the lady?" Glen asked, looking toward Gabrielle. She was peering through one of the small drink lists that had been left on the bar.

"Do you have a Sancerre?" Gabrielle asked.

"I can find something similar," the man said.

"I would like one of those then," Gabrielle blushed. Glen looked at her for a few moments. He turned his gaze toward the quidditch players. Harry nodded a bit and so Glen did too, before turning to Mathieu.

"And you, sir?" he asked. Mathieu looked a little bit startled.

"I will just have a butterbeer," Mathieu said. Glen the bartender nodded and moved to gather all of their drinks. Mathieu immediately said something to Gabrielle in French. It caused her to blush and she responded back. Titus just looked toward Harry. Harry just shrugged as the two of them argued in French.

Glen came back with Gabrielle's wine first. He put it down in front of her without any sort of comment. Mathieu said something else to her but she just looked at him, took the glass deliberately by the stem, and took a sip of it. He almost immediately started to sulk. Gabrielle frowned and reached over to put her hand on his leg. It cheered the French boy up a bit as Glen returned with his butterbeer. And then moments later with Harry and Titus's beers.

He put both bottles next to Gabrielle and the two quidditch players reached past the French girl to grab them. Harry's bottle was shaped like an elongated cauldron, and he took a long sip from it.

"Anything else I can get for you right away?" Glen asked.

"Nah," Titus said. "You're going to have the selection show on, right?" He nodded to one of the televisions hanging in the bar.

"You want me to turn off good Irish quidditch so some English pricks can watch quidditch commentators verbally blow them?" Glen asked.

"Yes," Harry responded. And the older man just laughed.

"Yeah, it's due on at the top of the hour. This is just a replay," Glen said

"Who wins?" Titus asked.

"Tutshill," Glen responded.

"Awesome, well, thanks," Titus said.

"Let me know if you need anything else."

"A couple of menus probably couldn't hurt," Harry said. "Although I don't think we're going to order right away."

"I'll grab some," Glen said. And he wandered away to do that. Harry turned his attention to the replay of the contest between the Tornadoes and Bats and didn't notice when the man returned with the menus. All he knew was that by the time the match was over, Gabrielle was peering through a menu, her lips pressed tightly together. She looked a little alarmed. Mathieu was still sulking.

But after a few moments she slid the menu over toward him. With some gentle prodding in French she got him to start looking through it. Harry watched as they pointed at a few items and apparently discussed what they would consider eating.

A few moments later the television changed to a Wizarding Broadcast Network logo before shifting to a studio. Harry laughed at the familiar faces sitting in front of the cameras.

"Lavender Brown?" he chuckled. "When did she graduate from Arrow's sideline reporter?"

"Beats me. But I love the top she's wearing. Dickerson keeps staring at her chest," Titus responded.

"I can't blame him," Harry chuckled. "Of course he's probably wondering just how the hell she wound up announcing this with him."

"No, I think he's got a pretty good idea how she got the gig," Titus teased as the camera cut to the two of them again, with Dickerson staring almost straight down.

"You two are terrible," Mathieu scoffed.

"You grow accustomed to it," Gabrielle said.

"Oh come on, Mathieu," Titus said. "She's got a nice chest. Surely you can see that."

"I would never debase her by staring," Mathieu stuttered.

"She does though," Gabrielle said. Mathieu just turned to look at her. Gabrielle was blushing a rather deep crimson and she slipped her hand off of her boyfriend's leg so she could take another sip of her wine. Harry suspected she hoped to get out of actually continuing that conversation.

"See, even your girlfriend agrees," Titus laughed, hitting Mathieu on the back. The French boy seemed annoyed by that but Titus wasn't paying attention. Instead he'd finished his beer.

"Need another?" Titus asked Harry. Harry held his out and looked at it, before swirling it around. He had about half left.

"Sure," Harry said, chugging the remaining bit of the bottle and putting it down on the counter. Titus flagged Glen down and ordered up another round. He got one for Mathieu, too, but Gabrielle had only taken a couple of sips of her wine.

"They are making a selection," Gabrielle said quietly from in front of them. Harry turned his gaze up to the television and took the first swig of his new bottle of beer.

"And Keeping for the English National team," Lavender Brown started. She smiled directly at the camera as she spoke. "The man who is widely considered to be one of the best quaffle-savers in the world. That's right, none other than Puddlemere United's own Oliver Wood!"

"That's not a surprise," Harry said.

"No. He's the only English keeper really worth a damn," Titus agreed. Lavender finished her spiel about Wood before Dickerson started talking.

"Wood has backstopped Puddlemere to some very successful seasons. He was an obvious choice and from what we hear, one of two players elected to the English squad by a unanimous vote. He's been voted the top keeper in the British and Irish leagues three of the last four seasons. And he's even garnered some most valuable player votes in that time," the older announcer said to the Camera. Harry really stopped paying attention to him as Gabrielle spoke up.

"You played with him at Hogwarts, right?" Gabrielle asked. Harry couldn't help but wonder how she knew that. He half suspected she just recognized his picture from the one of the Gryffidor team in his room.

"I did, years ago," Harry said. "But Titus is right. He's an obvious choice. If Puddlemere didn't have him they'd probably be as bad as the Cannons."

"Well that is good then," Gabrielle said.

"Any thoughts on the next selections, Lavender, for beater?" Dickerson said on the broadcast.

"Well Gwenog Jones has captained the last three English teams. You'd think she'd have to be a lock for one of the positions," Lavender said. Harry just sipped his beer and watched. Titus seemed to grow tense.

"That is probably a safe bet," Dickerson agreed. "And the left side beater selection is coming through now. Looks like it's going to be Felicity Hillard, the captain of the Tutshill Tornadoes. She's making her first national team appearance."

"Wow," Titus said.

"Indeed," Harry responded.

"What?" Gabrielle said.

"She's a solid player. But that's been Gwenog Jones's spot for the last decade," Harry explained. "It's odd seeing her usurped like that."

"Maybe she will get the other spot," Gabrielle said quietly.

"I hope not," Titus laughed. The screen was showing highlights of Hillard's play in various situations.

"And moving on to the right side. Another first timer on an English National team, we have Titus Button of the Falmouth Falcons!" Lavender announced over the broadcast.

"Congratulations," Mathieu said tersely.

"Way to go man," Harry said.

"Good for you!" Gabrielle giggled. She spun around on her stool and slipped off so she could hug Titus.

"Thanks guys," Titus laughed, hugging her back. Harry couldn't help but notice that Mathieu was glaring at Titus. But the glare disappeared when she slipped back into her stool moments later. She was still blushing and she simply went back to focusing on her wine and the television, which had gone to commercial.

"Congratulations, Button," Glen said, wandering back over to them.

"Thanks," Titus responded, holding his beer up in salute to the older man.

"Would you guys like to order some food up?" Glen asked.

"Sure," Titus responded. "Burger me. Medium.

"Same, but medium well," Harry said.

"I will try one too," Mathieu said quietly. "Medium rare."

"Can I get a half size of the chopped salad with chicken?" Gabrielle asked.

"No," Titus said. Gabrielle frowned.

"But," she started.

"She'll have the burger, medium," Harry said.

"Sure thing," Glen responded and walked away.

"I am not going to be able to eat all of that," Gabrielle pouted.

"So?" Harry said. "We came so you could try the burger. If you hate it you can have your salad."

"But that could be such a waste," Gabrielle frowned.

"Titus or I will finish it," Harry said. Gabrielle just pouted as the station came back from their commercial break. Harry barely paid attention as Lavender recapped the first three players selected to the English team. A few of the bar patrons came up and congratulated Titus, having noticed he and Harry were in the building.

Most of them made comments that they would still be rooting for the Irish to continue their international dynasty but at least they wouldn't feel bad if the English managed to squeak out a few games.

Alicia Spinnet of the Montrose Magpies wound up making the team as the right wing chaser. She'd been a reserve on the last world cup team and had put up solid numbers for both Wigtown and Montrose in her career. Harry couldn't help but smile at the fact that two of the three players who had turned professional from those Gryffindor teams would be representing England. And, he may have been biased, but he thought the third one had a pretty good shot at making the team as well.

Their burgers came as the right wing chaser was announced. Harry didn't really pay attention past seeing Jason Williams of the Tutshill Tornadoes joining the roster. It was also his first time on a national team. But he'd led the league in scoring the last few years and was, in Harry's mind, a fairly obvious pick.

Harry nudged himself up to the bar, standing between Gabrielle and Mathieu in their stools. Titus slipped to Mathieu's left and they started on their food. Well at least the boys did. Gabrielle just stared at the burger.

"This is really good," Mathieu admitted. He took a sip of his butterbeer between bites.

"Told you," Titus said. The French boy just glared at him, like he really didn't want to admit the beater was correct. But Titus wasn't paying any attention to him, instead he was focused on his burger. Harry noticed that Gabrielle still hadn't started on hers.

"Come now, Ellie," Harry said. "Try your burger."

"It is the size of my head," she said, sounding slightly aghast.

"Not quite," Harry said. "But yeah, it's a big burger."

"There is no way I can finish it," Gabrielle frowned.

"Don't worry about that, just focus on starting it," Harry said. He thought he was being clever.

"Do you really just pick it up and eat it?" Gabrielle asked.

"Well you can cut it up with a knife and fork if you want. But traditionally, yes, you just pick it up and eat it," Harry said. Gabrielle frowned at him but stared back at the bun. After a moment she reached out with dainty fingers and picked it up. She brought it slowly to her mouth and took a large bite. After a moment of chewing she put it back down on the plate.

"That is good," she said quietly.

"Told you," Titus reiterated as Gabrielle picked her burger up for another bite. Harry smiled a little bit at the image. She took a sip of wine between bites but just kept eating, which Harry figured could only be a good sign.

He turned his gaze back up to the monitor in time to see the selection of the center chaser for the English National Team. Claire Wright, also of the Montrose Magpies, would be joining Alicia Spinnet and Jason Williams in leading the English offense. Harry thought it was a good pick. The Montrose chasers had always been able to score.

The show cut to commercial shortly thereafter and Harry spent the time finishing his burger and polishing off his second beer. Glen returned with a new drink for all four of them. Mathieu seemed a little alarmed that Glen brought him the same type of beer that Harry was drinking, rather than the non-alcoholic beverage he'd been drinking. But after exchanging a quick glance with his girlfriend, he simply started drinking it.

Harry and Titus finished their burgers around the same time. Mathieu finished his a moment later. Gabrielle had about half of hers down. But half of the burger was a rather large amount of food, as she'd already pointed out.

Harry took a sip of his beer as the program came back on. Titus shifted back over next to him as Lavender again recapped the entire English national team.

"Now," she said with a smile into the camera. "It was widely considered to be a two horse race for the final starting roster spot. The seeker. James Parker and Harry Potter were the two favorites. Did you have an opinion on the matter, Reg?"

"I've always admired Parker's work on a broom," Reginald Dickerson said. "He's the classic type of seeker. And he's a very solid overall player. Honestly, it's hard to find a complaint with him. And if he were seeking for my team I'd be more than pleased with that.

"But Harry Potter is a once in a lifetime player. He single handedly changed the way we view quidditch a few years ago in Ballycastle. There's plenty of elite seekers playing in the world cup that are every bit as good as Parker. You have Sinclair with Canada, Lynch with Ireland, Inoue with Japan and of course Krum with Bulgaria. All of whom can fly with, and in some cases around, Parker. We've seen that in exhibitions and the last World Cup. So why not go with the savant that no one has been able to find an answer for?"

"Parker has beaten Potter before," Lavender commented idly.

"Not when they've been in a head to head competition he hasn't," Dickerson said. He continued his comment but Harry couldn't hear it over Titus talking.

"He really loves you," Titus said.

"Yes, he does," Harry responded. "I can't say that I mind though."

"He's being a bit hard on Parker, though," Titus said.

"He did lose to both Sinclair and Innoue last time," Harry pointed out.

"They were down by two-fifty before the snitch was caught," Titus shrugged. "But you have a point." And then the two stars went back to focusing on the television.

"Well, Reg, it seems that the selection committee agreed with you. Because the only other player to garner every vote for his position was none other than Harry Potter, the seeker for the Falmouth Falcons."

"Hell yes!" Titus yelled, hitting Harry on the back.

"Congratulations Mr. Potter," Mathieu said.

"Woo!" Gabrielle sort of yelled as she slid off her stool and hugged him tightly, as she'd hugged Titus. He couldn't help but notice that she hugged him for a longer duration than she hugged Titus. He didn't bother to look at Mathieu but he suspected he got glared at as well.

When she let him go, she did not return to her stool. Rather she just turned around and leaned against him as she watched the recap of the selection show on the television. Harry just slid an arm around her waist and watched as well.

At some point Glen bought a round of shots for the four of them, as a way of congratulating the two players on their accomplishments. Gabrielle and Mathieu each made a face as they drank the alcohol.

Harry spent the next half hour or so smiling at people as they walked up to he and Titus. He thanked them for their sentiments and went about his business. They decided it was probably best to not stick around too long, especially because Harry and Titus had practice the next day. Thankfully, Titus had been given the okay from Lunfrey to make it an afternoon affair rather than a morning one.

After finishing their drinks Titus placed his hand on Mathieu's shoulder and apparated straight out of the bar. Harry laughed and rolled his eyes.

"What?" Gabrielle asked.

"He forgot to pay," Harry said as Glen wandered over toward him with what he could only assume as the check.

"Oh," Gabrielle frowned. "I think I have some money in my purse." She started to dig through the small white Louis Vuitton bag. It had small, colorful logos all over the leather and Harry certainly didn't think it was appropriate for the situation. But he decided it was best to not comment.

"Because I'd really make you pay," Harry laughed. "I have plenty of coins." He reached into his pocket and pulled out well more than he knew the bill would be. He put them down on the bar and just nodded to Glen, who thanked him.

"Ready to go?" Harry asked, looking down at her. She nodded and turned to face him. She was still standing and leaning a bit on him.

"Okay," she said.

"Well take us home," Harry smiled.

"I cannot apparate!" Gabrielle frowned.

"Your excuse last time was you didn't know where you're going. Now you do," Harry smiled teasingly at her.

"But now I am a little drunk," Gabrielle frowned.

"So am I," Harry said.

"But you have experience with apparating while intoxicated!" Gabrielle argued.

"And now you're going to get some. If you can apparated while tipsy, you'll pass the test for sure," Harry said.

"I do not want to try this," Gabrielle frowned.

"Tough," Harry said, staring at her. "Go," he ordered. She just stared at him, her arms sliding around his waist. And then she closed her eyes.

Moments later Harry felt himself being shoved through a familiar tube. He prayed he wound up with all of his body parts when he arrived in Falmouth. But he wasn't too drunk, and he was confident he'd be able to correct any mistake she made. A moment and another loud pop later and the only trace of their presence was the half eaten burger left on the bar.

They came back into existence in Gabrielle's bedroom in Harry's Falmouth Home. She stepped away from him and looked very surprised.

"I did it!" she said, almost as if she couldn't believe what she'd accomplished.

"You did," Harry smiled. "Well done."

"I did it!" she squealed. She hugged him tightly, leaning up and almost absently tracing her lips over his cheek.

"And it was awesome," Harry agreed. "Did you pick your bedroom because you wanted to sleep?"

"Oh uhm, no," Gabrielle said, looking around. "I guess I did it because it was the room I knew best. Mathieu and I were planning on finishing up a movie we started before I fell asleep."

"Well let's head downstairs then," Harry smiled at her, leading her from her room.

"Okay," Gabrielle said. They walked down the stairs. "I can't believe I apparated someone!"

"You let an underage witch apparate you home?" Titus laughed as they stepped into the kitchen. Mathieu was already drinking a bottle of water. Titus was eating a large piece of left-over cake.

"Gabrielle is not underage," Mathieu said, he looked fairly confused.

"What?" Harry asked, looking at Gabrielle. She just blushed and looked away.

"She turned seventeen yesterday," Mathieu said, looking a little surprised that Harry didn't know that.

"Gabrielle?" Harry asked, looking at her.

"I did," she said. "But I did not think it was that big of a deal. I did not want to make a fuss" she blushed.

"Of course it's a big deal!" Harry said. Gabrielle just shrugged and looked to Mathieu.

"Do you want to finish that movie?" she said. Mathieu just nodded.

"I would love to," he said, and the two teenagers disappeared into the living room. Harry just looked at Titus who shrugged his shoulders. He pressed his lips together and stared after Gabrielle, wondering just why she'd decided to not mention that to him.

Author's Note: As always, the best way to contact me is likely through PM on the website. I always try to respond to anything sent to me that way. Thanks for reading and reviewing. I do appreciate it.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Zaion Indulias for the beta work on this chapter.

Chapter 14

"Congrats on making the National Team," Eva said as she wandered out of her bedroom the next morning. Harry just nodded at her.

"Thanks," he said. He was staring off toward the stairs. When he'd gotten up Gabrielle's door was closed, which typically meant she was still asleep. It was rare she'd sleep later than him. But she and Mathieu were up fairly late the night before.

And to the best of his knowledge they hadn't gone to bed together. But he hadn't walked down the hallway to check on Mathieu's room. And he doubted Eva paid attention to it when she emerged from her own.

"You excited?" Eva asked.

"Oh yeah. Titus and I have some promotional thing Tuesday night with the rest of the starting seven," Harry said. "I think they're going to announce the coach and stuff at that point. But we'll find out at that point."

"It has to be Barker," Eva said, referring to Lewis Barker, the forty-six year old coach of the Ballycastle Bats.

"What makes you say that?" Harry asked. "Lewis wasn't even an assistant coach last time around."

"No. He wasn't. But between now and then he's gone to three league championship matches. And there's three hybrid style players on the roster, so I suspect that's the style of quidditch the English team is going to want to play," Eva said.

"You think he's going to have Hillard try to play like Titus?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Eva said. "He always wanted to do it at Ballycastle. But Finbar was too much of a defensively focused beater. The only way Hillard winds up on the team over Jones is if he's going to do something different."

"Hillard is a good player," Harry said.

"She is, but neither she or Titus are better at playing a defensive beater position than Jones. So I can't figure that someone with a traditional view on quidditch is going to pick the two of them," Eva said.

"Well the prospective coach didn't pick the team," Harry pointed out. "The selection committee did."

"Sure. But if you think they didn't have a coach in mind, and didn't ask one to give some input, I think you're nuts," Eva said.

"I never have much faith in anything organized by the Ministry," Harry admitted.

"Well there's that too. But come on, Lewis is almost as hot as you and Titus. All the housewives like him anyway. He's also personable and a good interview," Eva said.

"Well it would be nice to play a few more games for him," Harry admitted.

"Yeah, lucky you," Eva said. "I'm hoping I get a call for one of the reserve spots. Put in a good word for me."

"I will," Harry said. "But if Lewis Barker is the coach, I don't think I'll need to do that. He probably knows more about your ability than I do."

"And would probably get blasted for picking too many former Bats," Eva frowned.

"Hey, so far, with the exception of Wood, the entire team is just Falcons, Magpies and Tornadoes," Harry said.

"Well the best players do tend to be on the best teams," Eva smiled.

"Then why are we so terrible," Harry teased.

"I blame Titus," Eva said.

"That's just the easy way out," Harry said.

"And the one Titus would take, if given the option." Eva said. Harry knew she was right, but didn't know if it was really worth it to come up with some sort of witty response in relationship to it. So he didn't.

"You should be thankful for Titus," Harry said. "If it wasn't for him we would probably be in the middle of a three hour drill warm up."

"Ugh, don't remind me," Eva frowned. She wandered over toward the fridge and looked through it. After a moment she pulled out a yogurt and started on it.

"So where'd you go last night?" Harry asked. He didn't really care, but he was enjoying the conversation so he figured they could just keep talking.

"Cora and I went to some clubs in London," Eva said.

"So a fun night," Harry said.

"Naturally," Eva smiled. "Is there any tea?"

"Not made up yet, no," Harry said.

"What use are you?" Eva frowned at him. She took her wand out and magically filled the teapot in the corner of the kitchen. A few seconds later it whistled that it was done. She levitated a bag of tea out of one of the cabinets and magically placed it into a cup before pouring the water in. She used magic to steep it before she picked it up and took her first sip.

"Not much of one, apparently," Harry said. He wandered over to the cabinet and grabbed out a mug himself, before manually picking out an Earl Gray tea and brewing his own cup from the pot she'd just made.

"How about you and Titus?" Eva asked.

"We took Gabrielle and Mathieu to Moo-Squack," Harry said. "Caught the selection show there."

"Fun," Eva said dryly. "I could use a nice greasy burger."

"Hangover?" Harry asked.

"No. Didn't really drink that much last night. Probably a little dehydrated. I just think a cheeseburger sounds delicious right now," Eva admitted. "Certainly better than unflavored yogurt. How the hell does Ellie eat this stuff?" She made a face at the half-full container of yogurt still in her hand.

"She usually puts a couple of berries in it," Harry said. "I think I've also seen her put some granola in before."

"Nothing about that sounds appealing," Eva said.

"I'm not the one eating it," Harry commented. "But I would agree. Nothing about it sounds appealing. There are reasons why I make eggs every morning."

"And conveniently didn't have any leftover, I noticed," Eva said.

"Actually haven't made breakfast yet," Harry smiled. "Had you been a little more patient I'd have considered it. But I think you've lost your chance." He intended for it to sound like she missed out on something. But Eva just shrugged her shoulders at him and took another spoonful of the yogurt.

"So any cute guys at the clubs?" Harry asked, turning the conversation back to her previous evening. Eva just chuckled at his words, shaking her head a bit.

"Probably," she admitted. "But I wasn't really looking. I had more entertaining things on my mind than that." She put the yogurt down to take another sip of her tea. She smirked at him over the rim of her mug as she did.

"Isn't that the point of going clubbing?" Harry asked. He knew that all Daphne ever talked about when she went out with her friends was essentially how good the 'eye candy' was at whatever establishment they bothered stopping at. And he'd heard enough of that from Eva and other female teammates in the last few years.

"Probably for some girls. But you know that's not what I'm looking for," Eva smiled coquettishly at him as she went back to finishing her yogurt.

"I seem to have some memories that are contrary to that," Harry teased.

"That's interesting," Eva said. "Because I seem to have memories from the morning after that were rather unpleasant. Although the look on your face was rather priceless. I'm not going to forget that anytime soon. But, strangely enough, I don't think that's what you were thinking of when you mention your own memories."

"No. It wasn't," Harry said. "I was more focused on the evening before."

"That's what I thought," Eva said. She finished off the yogurt and banished the empty container before shifting her focus to her tea. Harry reminisced on that for a few moments. He had to admit, that winter had contained some of the absolute strangest days of his young life. Even now, he still wasn't quite sure just what happened.

"Can I ask you something, Eva?" Harry asked after the two were silent for a few moments. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Is it personal?" she asked.

"Not really," Harry responded.

"That's not a reassuring answer," Eva said. "Because you very well know I'm so not talking about that."

"It's not about that," Harry said.

"Well what's up then?" Eva asked.

"Did you know that it was Gabrielle's birthday on Friday?" Harry asked.

"How would I know that?" Eva asked. She didn't seem that bothered by it. Harry wondered if he really didn't have a right to be annoyed. He suspected that he didn't. But, deep down something still rubbed him the wrong way about the entire situation. Although the pretty silver necklace that had just appeared the night before made more sense.

"I was just wondering if she said anything to you," Harry said.

"Nothing," Eva responded. "But in case you haven't noticed. I don't spend a whole lot of time around her."

"Yeah, but, well, you are female," Harry laughed.

"Sexist," Eva commented dryly.

"I guess," Harry said.

"So it bothers you that you didn't know about her birthday?" Eva asked. She finished off her tea and cleaned out the mug with magic before putting it back into the cupboard.

"A bit," Harry admitted. "I'd have done something for her. Maybe had her friends back over and had some sport of party. Something to make the day just, well, special you know?"

"And it never occurred to you that maybe a nice quiet evening alone with her boyfriend was the only type of special evening that she was interested in having?" Eva asked. Harry paused and just stared at her. If he was honest with himself, he hadn't thought about that. But it made sense. From what he could tell of Gabrielle, she would have actually probably enjoyed something like that very much.

"No, not really," Harry said.

"Well if I was still a seventeen year old girl, and had a boyfriend, I think that with my family absent that I would have wanted to spend a large portion of time with my boyfriend. That would have probably made me feel better," Eva said.

"Better than having a party?" Harry asked.

"It some situations, probably," Eva said.

"So I shouldn't bring it up?" Harry asked. He frowned at that, he wanted to bring it up.

"Are you asking me if I think you should be disappointed, or annoyed, or something, with the fact that the random French girl that you brought home didn't tell you when her birthday was and you didn't get to throw some sort of party?" Eva asked. She tilted her head to the side and stared at him. Harry just frowned.

"Yes, I think that I might be," Harry said.

"What are you trying to sleep with her?" Eva teased.

"Of course not!" Harry scoffed. "She's a bit young for me, don't you think."

"No comment," Eva said.

"This so has nothing to do with what I asked," Harry said dryly.

"Maybe not," Eva said. "Make sure you ask Mathieu if she threw up after. So you know what you're getting into." She was smiling at him, her eyes sparkling. Harry just shook his head.

"And I thought someone didn't want to talk about this," Harry responded.

"I don't. But teasing you is too much fun. You get all red and annoyed," Eva said.

"How very nice of you," Harry said. He tried to not blush. It was all he could do. But he could tell from Eva's giggles that it wasn't working.

"No," Eva said after a few moments more of bothering him. "I do not think that you have any sort of reason to actually be annoyed. In fact, being annoyed makes it sound a little bit creepy."

"Thanks for that," Harry said.

"Oh don't get me wrong. I get that you're worried about her and what not. But I am pretty sure that getting too upset about it will just freak everyone out," Eva said.

"Except Titus," Harry responded dryly.

"I think it may even freak out Titus," Eva said.

"Ouch," Harry responded.

"Indeed. Want to join me for a run before practice?" Eva asked. She stretched her arms over her head and stared at him.

"I'll pass," Harry said.

"You're getting a bit lazy with your workouts," Eva commented.

"No lazier than normal," Harry said. "I'll probably do a few laps at the pitch before practice anyway."

"You're just afraid we'll race and I'll beat you," Eva said.

"Afraid? No. But I have been beaten up by you too much already today," Harry laughed, referring to her previous comments. She just smirked at him.

"Well you are a rather easy target," Eva said.

"Enjoy your run," Harry laughed. Eva just nodded and wandered out of the house and started on her morning workout. Harry watched her go and then simply sat in the kitchen.

He thought that he should have probably gone out to run with Eva. But he wanted to sit and think for a few moments. He picked up a copy of the morning paper and skimmed the article about the members of the National Team. It didn't really have any information in it past the players who were selected and their stats.

Thankfully, a few moments later, Gabrielle walked down the stairs. She was still in her pajamas and yawned a little bit as she walked into the kitchen. She still had the silver necklace around her neck and Harry suspected she'd slept with it on, which seemed unusual to him, but he didn't comment on it. He also wasn't sure if it was a good or a bad thing that Mathieu didn't appear to be with her. He suspected he wouldn't have an answer for that until the boy emerged. Harry just hoped that when he did, he didn't saunter down the stairs as well. Harry looked at the clock before he spoke.

"Slept in, eh?" he said.

"Madame Fay wanted an afternoon session. I should have exercised already but I will make do," Gabrielle said. She looked away from him as she spoke and her tone was like she was defending herself.

"I was making a bad joke, Gabrielle. It's only like nine. It's hardly late," he said quietly. She looked at him for a moment but then nodded.

"Oh, sorry," she said. "I suppose the banter-y thing to say would be something like 'I am surprised that you are awake' or something?"

"I don't think there's any good banter to be had from that one," Harry said.

"This is complicated," Gabrielle frowned at him.

"Yes, it is," Harry laughed. She just stared at him for a moment, as if she wasn't fully sure just what exactly he was talking about. But when she finally spoke it was to direct his attention to something else.

"There is an owl at the window," Gabrielle said, staring across the kitchen at the window. Harry turned and looked at it, before walking over and letting the bird in. It just had a small piece of white cardstock attached to its leg. Harry took it off the bird's leg and flipped it over. There was only one line written on the paper. He smirked at it placed it on the counter.

"Is it good news?" Gabrielle asked, tilting her head to the side and looking at him.

"It isn't really news," Harry said. He slid the card across the counter to her. The owl flew back out the window as she picked it up. She looked at it for a few moments and frowned.

"Does that not seem like a waste of paper and time?" Gabrielle asked.

"I see it as more of a motivational challenge," Harry said.

"I see," Gabrielle said. She slid it back down toward him. He just stared down at it and read the words once more.

_Potter, I will see you in the finals. –Krum. _

He couldn't help but smirk at it once more.

"See, at least I know that he thinks I'm some sort of competition. And I'll just have to make sure that I don't let him repeat. Bulgaria certainly doesn't need to win consecutive world cups," Harry said, knowingly.

"I thought you liked him," Gabrielle said, frowning a bit as his words.

"I do," Harry said. "But that doesn't mean that I don't want to beat him into submission at the World Cup."

"I do not understand boys," Gabrielle frowned.

"Well I don't understand girls," Harry said. He debated saying women, but he figured that it was probably better to simply use the same type of terminology that she used.

"We can be complicated," Gabrielle nodded. Harry had half expected her to say the exact opposite thing. And he assumed that the conversation simply turn into random exposition about how neither side really saw their own gender as confusing. But obviously that wasn't the case.

"Glad you agree. Perhaps you could try to enlighten me on the female mind," Harry said. Gabrielle just stared at him for a moment before decided it was probably best to just joke with him.

"What would you like to know?" she asked.

"Why would a sixteen year old girl decide to not tell her friends that it was her birthday so they could do something special for her?" Harry asked. Gabrielle frowned, but kept looking at him, her cheeks turning red.

"But you did do something special," Gabrielle said. "You let Mathieu come over and you took us out to dinner."

"Neither of those things are special," Harry said.

"I thought they both were," Gabrielle frowned.

"But it's stuff we would have done anyway," Harry pointed out. Gabrielle just frowned more at him.

"I still thought it was nice," she said.

"Well I'm glad you did. But we could have done something way more special. Like had your friends back over and had some sort of a party," Harry said.

"I did not want a party," Gabrielle frowned.

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Because my parents always through me a party. And I did not want to think about that all day," Gabrielle said. It was Harry's turn to frown. He hadn't thought about that. But he should have expected that she had a legitimate reason for it.

"I'm sorry," Harry said.

"It is okay," Gabrielle said. "But honestly, Harry, I enjoyed my birthday. It was a fun night. And it was exactly what I wanted it to be."

"Okay," Harry said, deciding it was probably best to just drop the subject. He wasn't going to do anything past make her uncomfortable if he continued to press her about it.

"Can I ask you for something?" Gabrielle asked after a few moments of silence. She was staring up at him and she looked concerned. Harry couldn't quite place it. As he looked at her he could only assume she was afraid he'd say no. Which wasn't something he'd done up to that point.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" Gabrielle asked.

"We play Tutshill at seven," Harry said.

"I know that," Gabrielle said. "Matheiu is leaving after the match. I meant during the day."

"I won't know until tomorrow morning," Harry said. "But Daphne doesn't usually schedule me to do anything when I have a match that evening."

"Would you take me to Paris in the morning?" she asked quietly. She pressed her lips together and just stared at him as she asked. Harry wondered what she needed in Paris but he figured that it would be more entertaining to play with it a bit.

"Oh, like a date?" Harry asked. Gabrielle just blushed and looked away from him.

"No. I have a boyfriend!" she said.

"So why are you asking me out on a date?" Harry asked.

"I am not!" she sounded a little exasperated. "I would just like you to take me to the ministry after my ballet lesson."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"I need a parent or guardian to be present for the apparation test," Gabrielle frowned. "I was going to wait until the school year. But after last night I think I want to try it right away."

"I'm sure you'll pass with flying colors," Harry said.

"I hope so," Gabrielle responded.

"I hate to be the bearer or bad news, though," Harry started. He paused for a moment as he realized he'd just used that stupid cliché. But what's done is done and he couldn't go back and change it.

"What?" Gabrielle frowned.

"I am not your parent or guardian," Harry said.

"No. But you are an of age wizard. And you are Harry Potter," Gabrielle said quietly. "I figured that would be good enough. And if it was not you could do that thing like you did in Romania where you got the attendant to take us to Bordeaux rather than Falmouth."

"Oh?" Harry said, raising his eyebrows and staring down at her, doing his best to act like he did not like being asked to do something that invoked his celebrity.

"I am sorry if I should not have asked," Gabrielle blushed. She looked alarmed. Like she knew she shouldn't have asked him, but couldn't resist. Harry just smiled at her.

"As long as I don't have a promo thing I'll gladly do it," he said. "I'll let you know Monday morning. If it doesn't work then we can find a better date."

"Okay," Gabrielle said. "Thank you very much." And she looked rather relieved. He wondered just how much of the morning she'd spent working up the courage to ask him that. He figured he should tell her that asking him questions wasn't something that would ever bother him. It was assuming he'd do things that bothered him. Not asking for his help.

Of course, he also figured that teasing her every time she opened her mouth was probably not the best way to handle it. But he liked something about how she looked when she was flustered.

"But I want a date out of it," Harry teased.

"I have a boyfriend," Gabrielle laughed, shaking her head at having to rehash the excuse.

"So?" Harry said.

"So I do not go on dates with random quidditch players! Mathieu would not be happy with that," Gabrielle argued. Harry just smiled at her.

"But would Gabrielle be happy with that?" Harry asked.

"Gabrielle's life tends to be easier when Mathieu is happy," Gabrielle said.

"I believe the saying is 'happy wife, happy life,' and not 'happy boyfriend, happy life,'" Harry said. Gabrielle rolled her eyes at him. He was a little surprised she didn't just look away and blush. Maybe there was something to the bantering lessons with Titus.

"Well not every saying is exact," she countered. "But it is true, nonetheless. Also, Daphne told me that I should not spend too much time with quidditch players. She said they are bad influences."

"Did she now?" Harry asked.

"She did," Gabrielle said.

"That's disappointing," Harry said. "Here I was hoping you actually wanted to spend some time with me."

"I would not mind spending time with you!" Gabrielle said, sounding a little but surprised that Harry quickly turned the tide on the situation.

"So then we're going on a lunch date in Paris to celebrate your accomplishments after you successfully pass your apparation test," Harry said. He said it with such gusto that Gabrielle knew she would not be successful arguing with him. But that did not prevent her from trying.

"What if I fail?" she asked quietly, the thought weighing rather heavily on her. Fleur had passed on her first attempt. And she was pretty sure both of her parents had as well. But she did not know how confident she felt about apparation, even if she managed to drag Harry Potter out of a Ballycastle pub the evening before.

"Then we're going on a lunch date in Paris," Harry said. "To cheer you up and help prepare you for the next time you take the test."

"So I do not have much of a choice in the matter?" Gabrielle asked.

"None at all, really," Harry said. "And really, if you want to keep going, I still haven't even gotten into the point that you didn't let me do anything for you for your birthday, so I have arguments lined up if you'd like to keep going."

"That is okay," Gabrielle said. "But can I ask why you are being so insistent?"

"Because I want to do something nice for you for your birthday," Harry responded.

"Why?" Gabrielle asked.

"Because it always makes me feel better when people do something nice for me for my birthday. And because I like doing nice things for people," Harry explained.

"You are a very nice person," Gabrielle said.

"And then there's the fact that you're asking me for something," Harry said, deciding he could counter that claim as well. "And Daphne has recommended to me that I do not do anything pro bono. She insists I should be compensated for everything."

"So your compensation is taking me out to lunch?" Gabrielle asked.

"I know, right? I'm getting a fantastic deal," Harry said.

"Do you even know any good places to eat in Paris?" Gabrielle asked. Harry resisted the urge to comment that it didn't really matter, as she'd just pick at a salad. He knew that would be a mean thing to say. And that she likely wouldn't take it as the joke he mostly meant it.

"Not a clue," Harry said. "But come on, aren't you Frenchies supposed to just love food and have all sorts of fantastic restaurants."

"I guess you're right," Gabrielle responded dryly. "Even the worst French café will have better food than any English establishment."

"Impossible if they don't have a cheeseburger," Harry said.

"That is so far from the truth that it is not even funny," Gabrielle said. "I am not even going to eat breakfast because of half of one of those!"

"That's silly, you should eat breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day," Harry said. Gabrielle just frowned at him but moved over to the fridge.

"Who ate my yogurt?" she asked, looking around the fridge. Harry suspected she had the same practiced frown on her face that she always had when she was disappointed with something.

"Eva," Harry said. Gabrielle sighed but after some digging through the fridge she found an apple and sliced it up with her wand. It was a little strange watching her do magic. She giggled a bit as she used what was likely one of her first spells outside of Beauxbatons. Eventually she sat at the counter and ate the apple. Harry spent a moment digging through his pockets for no real reason. His hands ran over the bit of flyer he'd taken the evening before and he wondered just how he should go about bringing it up. When Gabrielle finished with her apple she looked up at him.

"Could you do me another favor?" Gabrielle asked.

"What's that?" Harry said.

"Well I suspect Madame Fay will be long today," Gabrielle said. "She always is after we have not met for a couple of days. Would you take Mathieu to practice with you? I know he is bored when he just sits around while I practice."

"I see," Harry said. Gabrielle nodded and continued.

"And I know he would like to see a quidditch practice. I know you and Titus feel that it is boring. But I think he would find it entertaining. And he is too afraid to ask you," Gabrielle said. She pressed her lips together and stared at him for a moment.

"And what, should I just have Titus grab him and apparated him to the stadium?" Harry asked. He half suspected that would amuse the beater, but not the French student.

"I was hoping you would just ask if he wanted to come along," Gabrielle said. "But if you think that emasculating him even more in front of me will be the proper course of action I am not sure that I am one to argue with you."

"Oh we're emasculating him now?" Harry asked.

"Titus more than you," Gabrielle affirmed. "He complained about it during the movie. He asked me to get the two of you to stop."

"And what did you tell him?" Harry asked.

"I told him that I would speak to you about it. And this is me doing that," Gabrielle said. "I really do not like having those conversations with him. He does not understand that I do not care about overt masculinity. But he thinks that it is something that interests me."

"Oh? A big confident man doesn't get you all hot and bothered?" Harry teased. Gabrielle simply crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him.

"Anyway, I would prefer it if I did not have to listen to him go on about how mean Titus is on his last night here," Gabrielle said, obviously deciding that his previous sentence did not warrant commenting upon.

"Do I even want to know what you two plan on getting up to tonight?" Harry teased. And if he was honest with himself, he did not really want an honest answer to that question.

"Mathieu is taking me out to dinner and then we are going to go to a movie, I believe," Gabrielle said. Harry stared at her for a moment.

"How positively innocent of you," he said quietly.

"I guess," Gabrielle said. "I like going to movies."

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Gabrielle nodded.

"I've always been pretty indifferent on them. Never really went when I was staying with the Dursley's. And never really saw the point in going after," Harry admitted. He knew Titus liked movies. But most witches and wizards he knew, at least Purebloods, weren't interested in Muggle entertainment.

"I always liked them," Gabrielle said. "Muggles tell some very interesting stories."

"I guess they do," Harry responded.

"So you will take Mathieu with you?" Gabrielle asked.

"Yes," Harry said. "If he wants to come."

"I am sure that he will. Just please ask nicely," Gabrielle said.

"I will," Harry said. "Does he fly at all. Or play at all?"

"He flies sometimes," Gabrielle said. She shrugged her shoulders in a way that made Harry think that she wasn't actually sure of that, but that perhaps he talked about it. "He is not on a team at Beauxbatons. But he does play with his friends on occasion."

"Well I'll get him a broom then, have him join in," Harry said. Gabrielle looked a bit alarmed.

"Please do not embarrass him," she said.

"Oh no," Harry responded. "We won't. Trust me, it's more of a thrill thing. Just let people fly around with us for a bit and they're too busy being shocked that they're participating in a professional practice. Maybe after we'll organize some type of a match."

"Oh. That sounds like it could be fun," Gabrielle responded, diplomatically.

"So you want in? Floo over when the wicked witch leaves and it can be me and you against he and Titus," Harry teased. Gabrielle just stared at him.

"The wicked witch?" she asked.

"That's how Titus and I refer to your ballet instructor," Harry commented, figuring it was simply easier to go with the truth.

"That is not very nice," Gabrielle frowned.

"Either is she," Harry said.

"Madame Fay is not that bad," Gabrielle defended her instructor.

"She may not be," Harry said diplomatically. He didn't think it was worth arguing about it with Gabrielle. He saw nothing positive that could come out of that. "But when she talks she sounds like a wicked witch. And she only ever wears black."

"So?" Gabrielle said.

"So Titus and I are dicks," Harry said. He shrugged his shoulders as Gabrielle crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him for a few moments. She didn't say anything. But she had finished eating her apple. After a few moments she broke the silence.

"So you will ask Mathieu?" Gabrielle asked.

"Yeah, sure," Harry said. He was pretty sure he'd already agreed to that. But there didn't seem to be any harm in reiterating it. Even if every part of him wanted to make some sort of clever comment.

"Thank you," Gabrielle said. "I think I will floo over after the lessons if you are not back yet. Mathieu always looks happy flying. It is fun to watch."

"And you have to be on my team for the two-on-two," Harry nodded. Gabrielle just shook her head.

"We would lose," she said.

"You're overestimating Titus," Harry commented.

"I would doubt that," Gabrielle replied. "But I should go and change and start my stretching. Mathieu must still be asleep. Thank you again." And she turned to leave. Harry just stared at her for a second before speaking up.

"Wait," Harry said.

"Yes?" Gabrielle asked, spinning around on her toes to look at him, a smile lighting up her entire face.

"Remember the whole thing I just said about how I'd want something for doing something for you?" Harry asked. Gabrielle crossed her arms and the smile slowly faded from her face.

"What would you like?" she asked carefully. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper he'd taken during his walk the previous afternoon. He stepped toward her and offered it to her.

"I want you to try out for that," he said, handing it to her. She took it carefully from him and unfolded it, staring at it.

"Sleeping Beauty?" she asked.

"Apparently a local group in Falmouth is looking for a couple more dancers. It's only a few performances in August," Harry said.

"I see that," Gabrielle said, reading the flyer. She bit her bottom lip as she stared down at it.

"So what do you say? I bet it would be fun," Harry said.

"I do not think Madame Fay would like it," Gabrielle responded. "She always wants her students to be in higher profile things."

"But you need to start somewhere," Harry said.

"I guess," Gabrielle responded, non-committedly.

"And what's the worst that can happen?" Harry asked. "They say no? Oh well, screw them if they do. You'll get some audition experience."

"I do not know," Gabrielle frowned.

"Don't you want to be in a show?" Harry said.

"It would probably be a small part," Gabrielle frowned.

"But a part, none the less. Something to put on the resume," Harry countered.

"I suppose," Gabrielle kept chewing on her lip and she stared down at the flyer.

"And who knows, it could be fun," Harry said. "It looks like it's just a local thing."

"Will you go to the audition with me?" Gabrielle asked meekly. Harry peered over at the flyer. It was Wednesday afternoon. Harry knew he had practice at some point that day, but he wasn't sure when it would be yet. Either way, he figured with Titus running it he could probably find a way out of it.

"Of course," Harry said.

"Okay, then I will give it a try," Gabrielle said. "But I must really go get ready now."

"Have fun," Harry said, watching her turn and then watching her backside as she walked up the stairs to head to her room to prep herself for her lesson.

Practice was pretty typical. Harry invited Mathieu, as Gabrielle asked, and the French boy seemed to be a bit in awe of the players. He watched the first part of it from the stands, staring at the players as they flew around the stadium.

Again, practice ran pretty smoothly with Titus in charge. The one remaining coach just observed. Harry suspected that the man was simply hoping to keep his positional job. Of course, judging from how the man stared at Foster, there may have been something more to it. But Harry didn't spend much more time thinking about that.

Once practice was over Titus flew down to the locker room and returned a moment later with an extra broom. He and Harry flew over to Mathieu in the stands and offered him the Comet.

"Take it for a spin," Titus said. Mathieu looked a little shocked at being handed a professional broom.

"Actually?" he asked. His English was not as good as Gabrielle's. He spoke with a slight accent and seemed to struggle with a few of the words.

"Sure," Titus said. Mathieu took the broom and stared at it in awe. His thumb rubbed over the Falcon logo on the end.

"Wait. What have you flown on before?" Harry asked. The French boy looked at him for a few moments before answering.

"A Cleansweep fourteen," he responded. Harry heard Titus snicker from behind him. Mathieu looked a little confused by the beater's quiet laugh. Harry assumed he was being insulted. But that wasn't the case. Harry knew Titus was just amused by how different the brooms would be. And probably suspected that the French boy would end up hurting himself.

"Alright," Harry said. "This isn't going to be like anything you've ever flown then. Just be careful. Take some time to get used to it."

"How is it different?" Mathieu asked.

"It's about twice as fast, top speed wise, and accelerates somewhere in the vicinity as four times as fast. And has a much sharper turning radius," Harry explained. Mathieu nodded. He got onto the broom and immediately shot up six feet.

"Woah," he said.

"Exactly" Titus laughed. Mathieu jerked forward about five feet before stopping abruptly. He looked as if he was almost thrown off the broom. He tried again to pretty much the same results and then looked sheepishly at the two professionals.

"These are not made to fly slowly, are they?" he asked.

"No, they aren't," Harry said.

"How do you two do it?" Mathieu asked, he seemed to slowly be getting the hang of it.

"A lot of time and practice," Titus said, floating very slowly after Mathieu. They were both making sure he didn't make some mistake that threw him from the broom. But he was getting more and more comfortable by the minute.

After just a few more moments he was flying fairly normally. Mathieu tested the handling for a few moments before speeding off down the pitch. Titus trailed after him, but Harry just floating near the stands and watched.

Mathieu turned wide around the hoops and started flying back toward Harry. Harry floated a bit to the side to give the boy some room. He shot past and moved toward the opposite hoops. Mathieu attempted to turn sharply around them, but then stopped abruptly and looked a little alarmed as he barely managed to stay on the broom.

"Careful," Harry laughed. "It'll try to throw you if you go straight into the G's like that."

"I see that. Well, felt that," Mathieu said.

"You get the hang of it eventually," Harry said.

"Or you pass out trying to turn way too sharply," Titus commented.

"Or that," Harry affirmed. Titus flew down toward the pitch to grab a quaffle as Mathieu kept acclimating himself to the broom.

"So what do you play at Beauxbatons?" Titus asked as he tossed the quaffle to Harry. Harry caught it with his left hand, barely paying attention as he tossed it into his right.

"Chaser usually," Mathieu said. "But I am not on a team. I just play occasionally with friends. Sometimes I keep."

"So you want Harry and I to take turns taking runs at you in the hoops?" Titus asked. Mathieu looked frightened by the prospect. Harry just smiled and tossed the quaffle toward him. He caught it with ease.

"No. I would prefer not," Mathieu said.

"You wouldn't gain anything from it anyway," Harry said as Mathieu tossed the quaffle back to him. "Titus can't shoot worth a damn."

"I do hold the single season scoring record for a beater you know," Titus said. Harry just rifled the quaffle at him.

"Yeah, and?" Harry asked.

"And that means I can shoot," Titus said.

"We're going to have to agree to disagree on that one," Harry said as the beater tossed the quaffle to Mathieu.

"I've scored more goals than you," Titus said childishly.

"Because that's relevant," Harry responded. Mathieu tossed the quaffle to him and he rifled it quickly back to Titus.

"It is," Titus affirmed in a self-assuring sort of way. Harry just rolled his eyes and turned the conversation to Mathieu.

"So how long have you been dating Gabrielle?" Harry asked. Mathieu bobbled the quaffle as Harry asked the question, but he managed to catch it.

"Oh, uhm, about a year," he said, throwing it to Harry. Harry just nodded and tossed it back toward Mathieu, catching him off guard. But he still managed to catch it.

"And how's that working for you?" Titus asked as Mathieu relayed the quaffle to him.

"It is going well, I guess," Mathieu said.

"You guess?" Harry asked. He found that to be a bit off of a statement.

"Well there are times where I don't think she likes me," Mathieu admitted.

"Welcome to women," Titus said. "I'm pretty sure that there are times they all just hate anything male."

"I think that's mostly just you," Harry commented. "I get along swimmingly with all things female."

"You don't count. You're the chosen one," Titus scoffed. Harry just shrugged his shoulders and threw the newly acquired quaffle as hard as he could directly at his friend's head. Unfortunately, Titus caught it, and lobbed it to Mathieu without really paying attention.

"And I am pretty sure that she only agreed to go out with me because her friends were irritating her about not having a boyfriend," Mathieu continued, a bit oblivious to the fact that the two quidditch players were too busy insulting each other to really pay attention.

"Hey, as long as they say yes once," Titus teased. Mathieu nodded a bit. His father, in the past, had made similar statements to him.

"I guess," Mathieu said. "At least that was what I thought early."

"You know we can probably help you," Titus said. "What are your concerns?"

"I don't have any concerns," Mathieu said. "Gabrielle just likes to take things very, very, slowly."

"Well, this may be hard to realize. Especially at your age, but taking it slowly tends to be so much better in the long run," Titus said. Harry caught the teasing tone in his voice. He decided it was probably best to not comment.

"So I have heard," Mathieu responded dryly.

"So, what?" Titus asked. "Does she not let you do enough?"

"I do not really think this is appropriate conversation," Mathieu said. Harry couldn't help but notice he was blushing. Harry suspected that if Gabrielle had let him do anything at all, he'd be more than willing to brag about it.

"Of course it isn't," Titus said. "That's what makes it fun." Mathieu just stared at him. He took a moment to catch a quaffle from Harry before throwing it back toward Titus.

"Gabrielle lets me do little more than kiss her," Mathieu admitted. "I would prefer for there to be a more physical side to our relationship at this point. But it has not developed."

"Patience," Titus said thoughtfully.

"I have been patient!" Mathieu exclaimed. Then he frowned. "That came out wrong."

"A bit," Harry said.

"Seemed normal enough to me," Titus responded. He caught a quaffle before continuing. "So do you normally just start groping and hope she doesn't stop you, or have you spoken to her about it?"

"I uhm, would suppose nearer to the first option," Mathieu admitted.

"You should try talking to her about it," Titus said. "It's amazing how effective that can be."

"Really?" Mathieu asked.

"Oh yes," Titus commented. Mathieu blushed and seemed to stew on that for a few moments. They spent some more time tossing the quaffle around and having general conversations about nothing in particularly. Mathieu seemed more interested in listening to whatever the quidditch players had to say, rather than actually contributing to the conversation.

Eventually, though, Mathieu checked his watch and decided he needed to return to the house to get ready for his date with Gabrielle. Harry and Titus led him to the locker room. He used the floo to return home immediately. But the two players still hadn't changed out of their practice uniforms so they lagged behind.

"So why are you giving him advice about Gabrielle?" Harry asked after pulling the jersey over his head and tossing it into the locker.

"What?" Titus asked. Obviously the previous conversation hadn't been that important to him, as he was already thinking about something completely different.

"Talking to her and being patient would probably be effective," Harry said. "But why are you telling him that. You seem to be more the type that enjoys watching people crash and burn, rather than helping them."

"Oh. Well I've been kind of a dick. Figured being nice for a couple hours couldn't hurt," Titus said shrugging his shoulders.

"I see," Harry responded, pulling on a fresh team t-shirt. He took a moment to change his pants as well, finding the new jeans to be much more comfortable.

"Why do you care?" Titus laughed.

"Just looking out for Gabrielle," Harry responded quickly.

"So helping out her boyfriend isn't looking out for her?" Titus responded.

"I don't know," Harry said. "Seems like she has enough on her plate. Probably shouldn't have to worry about whatever conversation Mathieu is going to try to have with her." Titus didn't say anything. Instead he finished changing as well, and then he took a moment to just stare at his friend. Then he started laughing.

"Oh wow. You have a thing for her!" Titus exclaimed. Harry just stared at him, attempting to make his expression as blank as possible.

"Hardly," Harry said.

"Sure, sure," Titus said. "I suppose she is pretty, especially since you're into petite blonde girls. But you were the one that thinks she has an eating disorder. Maybe you should try to look into that before hitting on her."

"I don't have any intentions of hitting on her," Harry said sternly. Titus just continued talking, though, oblivious to Harry's assertion.

"And honestly, I think virgins are too much effort. But if you're into that," Titus shrugged. Harry just stared at him for a moment.

"And you're done now," Harry said.

"Hey, you're the one that doesn't want her boyfriend to have a good time," Titus said. "And if she's been going out with him for a year, then I'd think she trusts him a bit." Harry realized he didn't really have an argument against that. So he changed the subject.

"Want to go get a beer and watch the Wanderers and the Arrows?" Harry asked, remembering that was the game tonight.

"You know I don't drink the night before a match," Titus laughed. "But I could use a sandwich, so sure, I'll join you."

"Great," Harry said, walking over toward the floo. He tossed some powder into the fire and stepped through to one of the Falmouth restaurants they'd discovered. He could sense Titus following him.

Harry didn't pay much attention to the game when they arrived. They'd leave before it finished anyway. Instead he spent the evening wondering about Gabrielle, their upcoming trip to Paris, and her possible audition.

Author's Note: As always, thanks for reading. A PM is typically the best way to contact me and actually expect a response. I try to respond to all of them.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Zaion Indulias for the beta work on this chapter.

Chapter 15

Harry's first thought as he entered the French Ministry of Magic as that it wasn't all that different from the English Ministry of Magic. Harry wasn't sure why he thought it would be any different, but despite that, he was still surprised that it was different. I mean, sure, he knew the building would be different. And the building was fairly impressive.

He and Gabrielle had taken a portkey to Paris early that morning. Harry hadn't had any promotional dealings on the calendar, which was nice. But he knew that would change rather rapidly with the additional National Team responsibilities. Either way, he was glad he managed to keep that promise without it being any sort of an issue.

They'd wandered through the streets for a few moments. Harry was about to ask her if she knew how to actually get into the French ministry when they approached what appeared to be a giant glass pyramid. Harry blinked a bit and then couldn't resist.

"Why are we at the Louvre?" He asked.

"I am surprised you know what it is," Gabrielle said as they approached the museum.

"Hey, I'm cultured," Harry argued. Gabrielle decided it was best to not comment on that.

"The entrance to the French ministry is in the pyramid," Gabrielle said.

"So where is the ministry?" Harry asked.

"Above the pyramid," Gabrielle said.

"How's that work?" Harry asked.

"I would suspect through the use of magic," Gabrielle countered. Harry opened his mouth, then closed it and smiled.

"Nice one," he responded. Gabrielle looked up at him and smiled as well.

"Thank you," she said. And she led him in to the pyramid. Harry wondered how none of the Muggles loitering around seemed to notice them. Or care that they skipped ahead of the lines. But he didn't comment, for fear of Gabrielle giving him the same answer she just had moments earlier.

"So how do we get in?" Harry asked.

"Follow me," Gabrielle said. And she walked up to the actual panes of glass. She took out her wand and started counting off panes of glass. Eventually she tapped one with her wand and it shimmered.

"Step through," she ordered. Harry did. And for a moment he felt like he was being pulled upward. But then he was standing in a large open area. He appeared to be standing on glass, but he suspected it was just some type of flooring charmed to look like glass. He could look down and see the museum below him, as well as a good portion of the city. He paced around, smiling at some of the sights. A moment later Gabrielle appeared next to him.

"Well that's neat," Harry said, gazing around.

"I think so too," Gabrielle said. "But apparently older people do not like it."

"Old people don't like anything," Harry said, intending for it to be funny. Gabrielle simply kept talking, ignoring the fact that he'd even spoken.

"There was some type of controversy when the pyramid opened and they moved the ministry to this location. Apparently it goes higher and higher depending on offices. The floor is only invisible on the bottom, but the offices further up have very nice views," Gabrielle explained.

"Were you even alive when this thing opened?" Harry asked. He knew the pyramid wasn't that old, but he had no idea when it came about.

"Had you read the plaque outside you would know that I was three when it opened," Gabrielle said. "Naturally I do not remember the controversy. I just heard about it from my parents. I have only been in the building a couple of other times. One time was for Fleur's apparation test. Mom took us shopping after."

"Get anything good?" Harry asked. Gabrielle just shrugged her shoulders.

"I do not remember. I just remember being bored during the test and that we went shopping after."

"I see," Harry said. He was gazing down at the Muggles below, finding the view into the glass pyramid to be sort of surreal.

"Come," Gabrielle said, ignoring the fact that he was enjoying himself. She started walking toward what he could only assume was the center of the building.

And that's how he found himself in the French Ministry of Magic for the first time. But despite the differences in building, it seemed pretty basic. Sure, he couldn't read the French signs, or understand the French announcements, but the bustle of activity, whether it was people running back and forth, or messages flying all about, was rather familiar. And he thought it was a nice touch that there weren't any wanted posters of him, as there had been the last time he'd been in the English Ministry of magic.

Of course, Kingsley had framed one of those posters and had it on display in the Ministry, as a reminder for how many people were duped by all of that. And as a warning of how different things could have been had Harry been weaker. He shook his head and decided it was best to not think about that any further as Gabrielle led him to what he assumed was an elevator.

He stepped in and looked around. She muttered something in French that sounded vaguely like transportation and the door closed. When it opened they were in a much more standard office setting. Harry followed Gabrielle up to the desk where a witch about Harry's age greeted them in a rapid fire French.

Harry's first thought was that he should probably make some attempt at learning the language. Of course, Gabrielle responded rapidly as well. And after a few moments there seemed to be some sort of argument. Harry slid an arm carefully around her waist and looked down at her.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"She is being difficult," Gabrielle frowned. "She is saying I cannot take the test without an adult present. Despite being an adult myself."

"Why's that?" Harry asked.

"Because it is protocol to have a parent or guardian present in the situation that the test goes awry," the secretary said in very staccato English. Harry turned at her and smiled.

"Hi," he said. The secretary blushed a bit and looked at him.

"Good day," she said, blushing.

"I'm standing in for the parent or guardian," Harry said.

"That is not allowed," the secretary said.

"Sure it is," Harry smiled fully.

"No. It isn't!" the secretary looked exasperated.

"Let's try this again," Harry said.

"What?" The secretary looked confused. Harry leaned onto the desk she was sitting at.

"I'm Harry Potter," He offered his hand. She took it, carefully. Before she dropped it.

"Anna Morin," she responded, before looking away. Harry noticed she was bright red and doing her best to not make eye contact with him.

"Nice to meet you," Harry said.

"You too," she stammered.

"Now," Harry said, looking at the neatly filled out piece of paper on the counter. "Judging from this, there needs to be a signature from a parent or guardian on this line, right?" he pointed to the line in question. It was next to Gabrielle's own flourished signature. He noticed she signed her name Elle and not Gabrielle. He found it odd as she never seemed to really care what anyone called her. But he supposed Gabrielle Delacour was a rather long signature, or at least longer than Harry Potter, and he rarely signed anything past H. Potter. So he certainly knew about shortening a signature.

"That is correct," Anna Morin said. Harry just smiled at her. He reached across the desk and grabbed a quill from next to where she was working on something. He proceeded to sign his name in that box with a practiced flourish.

"So now we're good?" Harry said.

"No," Anna sighed. "You are not related or responsible for her. And as such-"

"Okay Anna, I get that you're just doing your job and all. But I don't want this to take all day. I have to beat the Tornadoes tonight. So do you have a supervisor or someone that I can speak to?"

"She is in a meeting," Anna said instinctively.

"And that meeting is going to last until about fifteen minutes after the daily round of apparation tests, isn't it?" Harry asked.

"There is no telling how long the meeting will be," Anna said. Gabreielle tensed next to him, but Harry just held her carefully and somehow she knew she should just let him handle the situation.

"That's not going to fly," Harry said.

"That is what it is," Anna said sternly. Harry just smiled at her.

"No," Harry said. "You see my friend here has had a bit of a rough summer. And she's not able to have a parent or guardian here. I'm the closest thing to a guardian that she has. And really does it make much of a difference if it's a Beauxbaton's professor that proctors it in the stead of a guardian?"

"Yes, it does," Anna Morin responded. Harry nodded a little bit.

"I see. Hey Gabrielle, what was that magazine that I had an interview with this afternoon?" Harry asked, keeping the conversation as light as possible. To her credit Gabrielle responded with a very French sounding magazine that Harry had never, ever, heard of.

"I do not see how that matters to me," Anna said.

"It doesn't," Harry smiled. "But I was hoping that I'd have something good to say about my first trip to the French Ministry of Magic. At least past raving about how beautiful the building is. It is a splendid piece of magic. Don't you agree, Anna Morin?" Harry asked. The secretary blushed even more.

"It is a beautiful building," Anna agreed.

"So what do you say, Anna?" Harry said. "Can Gabrielle just take her test so I don't have to keep some interviewer waiting?"

"Fine," Anna agreed. "She can move down the hall and a proctor will meet her for the test. You will have to wait downstairs."

"Alright," Harry smiled. "I'll be down in the courtyard." He turned to Gabrielle to give her a hug and wish her luck, but she just looked a little startled.

"Isn't the guardian usually with the person being tested?" Gabrielle asked, in English, so Harry could hear he express her concern. She could not remember how Fleur had taken the test, but she thought she remembered watching her sister.

"No," Anna responded. "They are not. That would be against the point." And Gabrielle's eyes just widened. Harry smiled and did just hug her.

"Don't worry," Harry said. "You'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" Gabrielle muttered quietly.

"Positive," Harry said. "I'll be in the courtyard. Come find me when you're an official licensed apparator."

"Okay," Gabrielle said meekly. And Harry just watched her walk down the hallway with Anna Morin. He walked back to the elevator and found his way out of the ministry.

He paced around the Louvre courtyard, admiring the architecture, and simply waiting. Eventually, he found a place to sit that wasn't really out the way and he just watched people entering and leaving the museum. He played a game with himself, mostly attempting to figure out which were Muggles and which were Magicals. It wasn't as amusing as he tried to make it.

He remembered his apparation test. He didn't have the heart to tell the Ministry official that he'd been apparating as a primary form of transportation for almost a year by the time he'd taken it. He'd passed in about six seconds. It was simply a series of apparting to specific designated areas and not splinching himself.

He remembered not quite seeing the point in actually taking the test, either. As he'd been apparating for an extended period and no one seemed to track it or take notice in any way, shape, or form. But when the news came out that he hadn't passed it yet. He figured it was probably easier to get it on his resume, rather than have people question the legality of any magical transportation he did.

He got bored of his little game after about thirty minutes and instead he just closed his eyes and stared up at the sky. It was a warm morning and he enjoyed that. But after about ten minutes of enjoying the weather he started to grow antsy.

Harry opened his eyes and looked around. Looking for any sign of a pretty, albeit thin, blonde girl. He didn't see her. So he stood up and went back to pacing around the courtyard again.

He tried to distract himself by what he knew of the Tutshill Tornadoes. They were a strong team. But had always been outclassed by the Bats, Magpies, and Harpies. They improved every season though. And Harry knew beating them would be one of the first major tasks the Falcons would have to accomplish. Certainly, he was curious as to how their first match without Ralph Davis would go.

He made a mental note to pay attention to whatever Titus said during the pregame speech. He knew he should have probably paid a bit more attention, so he'd know just what type of a game Titus wanted to play. But he'd been focused on other things. Either way, he had a feeling how Titus would want to combat Tutshill. And he'd certainly be willing to play that way. In fact, he looked forward to it.

He was starting to feel impatient, though. He was getting hungry, but Gabrielle still hadn't emerged from the ministry. He kept staring at where he'd emerged earlier and hoping she'd show up. A few people did, every now and then, but none of them were his petite French date.

He turned away, thinking about wandering around the Louvre once more. But as soon as he turned away, he heard her behind him.

"Harry!" she giggled. He spun around, a move far less graceful than any time she did it, and looked at her. He didn't get that good of a look as her arms flew around him and her body pressed to his.

"Hi," he laughed.

"I passed!" She yelled.

"Congratulations!" he responded, hugging her again. He let her go after a moment.

"Sorry it took so long. They took forever to get all of the identification paperwork in order," she reached into her purse and pulled out the identification card. He smiled at her and took it out of her hand.

"That's okay," he smiled. "How do you manage to look good in an I.D Photo? I look drunk."

"Show me," she ordered. He reached into his back pocket and took out the small wallet he usually carried. It typically just held his magical identification, which, like every form of magical identification, was charmed to look like a Muggle driver's license and a couple of Muggle credit cards that were linked to Gringotts for the occasion when he or Titus wound up at a Muggle bar. He took the identification and handed it to her.

"Were you drunk?" she asked as she examined it.

"Don't remember," Harry said. He looked over everything on her card. Her photo was en pointe, twirling around with her arms above her head in the outfit she was currently wearing. The picture made her look supremely happy, a bright smile across her face every moment that it faced the viewer.

Yet the whole thing seemed a little invasive, but she didn't seem to mind. He had to do some quick mathematical conversions in his head to try to figure out her height and weight. It probably didn't help that he didn't remember the conversions for Muggle Primary school.

"That is not a very good excuse," Gabrielle said, examining his card as well.

"Oh, I guess not. I didn't mean it that way," he said. The one hundred and fifty seven centimeters sticking in his head as he tried the conversions. He was only mildly annoyed that 'a little shorter than Eva' wasn't a legitimate measure of height.

"I am sure you did not," she giggled.

"I didn't," Harry laughed. "I don't remember anything except being annoyed that a whole bunch of people turned up to watch my apparation test. Like pretty much every ministry official. And it turned into more of a Harry Potter lovefest than me actually getting the silly stamp on the identification."

"I bet that was annoying," Gabrielle said. "The proctor just glared at me when I passed and sent me to identification to get my height and weight checked and a new picture."

"It was annoying," he agreed. His eyes focused on the forty-one kilos next to the centimeters. He couldn't remember how to convert that to pounds or stones. But he decided it wasn't that important at the moment. Even if his mind did drift back to the height/weight chart Daphne had included in her ballerina packet.

"You were cute at seventeen," she said, staring at the picture. Harry on the identification was just staring sheepishly up at them, his hands in his pockets.

"I was eighteen in that picture," Harry said, as if that detail mattered. She offered the card back to him and he took it, sliding it back into his wallet and then pointing at a small code on hers, just under her hair and eye color. "What's that?"

"That says that I am one quarter veela," Gabrielle said as she took her own identification from him and put it into her purse.

"And does that matter?" he asked. She just looked at him.

"Did you find a place for lunch yet?" she asked, changing the subject. He just smiled at her.

"No, but there appears to be about ten cafes down that street. Why don't we stare at some menus and pick one?" He figured he could badger her about it over lunch, anyway. It would probably be easier than waiting asking her about it out in the open.

"Okay," she said and started walking toward the street in question. Harry just followed her, not saying anything, and staying a couple of steps behind her as she walked. He didn't really think about much as they walked, and he barely responded as she mentioned certain things about the restaurants they passed. If he was honest, they all sounded like pretty good options to him. But she managed to find some sort of a defect in each of them.

Harry was tempted to make a comment that lettuce was probably pretty much the same everywhere. But he didn't want to make her feel bad about only ever eating salads.

Eventually she settled on a small corner café. Harry suggested eating outside, but Gabrielle vetoed that idea and they wound up at a small table in the corner inside the restaurant. Not that Harry minded, he just would have preferred being outside.

After they were seated and ordered their drinks, a citron presse apiece, Harry decided to see if she would answer the question she'd avoided a few moments earlier.

"So," he said carefully while peering down at the menu. He raised his gaze enough just to see that she too was simply reading the menu. "You didn't answer my question?"

"Which?" she asked.

"That you're a quarter veela," Harry said. Gabrielle just blinked at him.

"You knew that already," Gabrielle said.

"I did," Harry admitted.

"So what are you asking?" Gabrielle asked.

"Why is it on your identification?" Harry clarified.

"Why is human on yours?" Gabrielle countered. Harry blinked. He guessed he'd never really thought about that. But he did know that right next to his height and weight there was a small code that indicated he was human.

He'd asked about it, once. Apparently it had something to do with blood work identification, the goal was to prevent other creatures from assuming a human shape. It was, in a sense, a last line of defense against identity theft. But Harry thought it still sounded to be a bit excessive and impractical, much like most things the Ministry came up with.

"So it's just some sort of identification?" Harry asked.

"I suspect," Gabrielle said. "They took my blood and that is what appeared on the card." Harry nodded, it had been similar with him.

"Are there any limitations because of that?" Harry asked. He'd never really had a conversation with anyone about that before. He suspected, if he was seriously interested, he should have brought it up in one of his discussions with Fleur. But he'd never had the interest.

"No," Gabrielle said, she looked at him carefully. "Why would there be?" And Harry realized he didn't have anything to say to that. But thankfully he was interrupted by their waiter returning. Gabrielle ordered for the both of them. Harry recognized that she ordered him a ham sandwich and he figured that would work.

Unfortunately, Gabrielle just kept staring at him after the waiter left, and Harry suspected that she wouldn't stop until he gave an answer to that question.

"I don't know. Government just seems to have some weird logic for just about everything that it does. I didn't know if it was some sort of detriment or something," Harry explained with a shrug of his shoulders. Thankfully, Gabrielle seemed to accept that as an answer.

"It has not been," Gabrielle said. Harry just smirked at her.

"Just how much trouble have you charmed your way out of?" Harry teased.

"None," Gabrielle laughed. "I am not that charming. And I am not good at talking my way out of something as you are."

"But you're Veela," Harry said.

"One quarter," Gabrielle said, emphasizing the quarter. "Enough that if I were to have children, they would not have the same identification on their cards."

"And the famed Veela allure?"

"Barely exists in half-bloods. Much less quarter-bloods," Gabrielle scoffed.

"Your sister had it," Harry said pointedly, remembering people fawning over her during the Triwizard Tournament.

"No," Gabrielle said. "She did not."

"But she had people fawning over her at the tournament," Harry countered.

"She had people fawning over her everywhere," Gabrielle scoffed.

"But," Harry said, Gabrielle just shook her head.

"No," she said. "Fleur did not have an aura, or an allure, or whatever other clichés you would like to attribute to her. Just like I do not."

"But Ron was convinced that he wasn't in control when he asked her to the ball," Harry said. Gabrielle just raised her eyes at him, giving him a look that indicated she was rather interested in hearing just how that story played out.

"It is amazing what boys will come up with to try to justify their behavior," Gabrielle said.

"I suppose. But Roger Davies was all over her at the ball," Harry said, remembering seeing the two of them in a vaguely intimate situation at some point.

"Again, boys will be boys," Gabrielle frowned. "It is just a way for them to empower themselves and attempt to place the responsibility on anyone else."

"Really?" Harry said.

"Really," Gabrielle responded sternly. "I could not charm you if I tried."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Harry teased. Gabrielle just rolled her eyes.

"Fine," Gabrielle sighed. "I could not charm you with some fantastical aura."

"You could always try," Harry teased. Their food showed up and he took a rather large bite out of the sandwich. Gabrielle just poked her fork into her garden salad and began to eat it, practically one piece of lettuce at a time.

"I will pass," she said.

"But it could be fun," Harry said. She just rolled her eyes and kept eating.

"I will still pass," she said.

"I think I remember Fleur mentioning her aura, though," Harry said. He couldn't recall the exact details of the conversation. Perhaps it was when she was with Bill a few years after the tournament.

"Fleur was a brat," Gabrielle said. She stumbled over the 'was' a bit. Harry looked at her for a moment and he could see that she was thinking about how she's thought 'was' rather than 'is' and the finality that such a statement held. She pressed her lips together and Harry just tried to keep her talking.

"How so?" Harry asked.

"She played up to it," Gabrielle said. "She liked to have people fawning over her. So she would be especially flirty and blame the 'aura' because people accepted it. I suppose it did not hurt that she was gorgeous and had large breasts."

"That's relevant?" Harry laughed. Gabrielle blushed but nodded.

"Sophia claims that teenage boys are completely distracted by them, regardless of the situation," Gabrielle explained. Harry nodded a bit.

"Not just teenagers," Harry affirmed. Gabrielle frowned a bit and looked down toward her chest.

"That is disappointing," she said quietly. And Harry wasn't even remotely sure how he should attempt to approach that one.

"Oh don't worry," Harry said. "There's plenty of boys who find petite, athletic girls to be the most attractive creatures they've ever seen."

"Oh, do you know many?" Gabrielle asked, tilting her head to the side and brushing some of her silvery-blonde hair back behind her ear.

"Quite a few, including yours truly," Harry said. Gabrielle just stared at him then blushed and looked down at her salad, eating it slowly.

"What were we talking about?" she asked after a few moments of silence, taking the time to attempt to compose herself a bit more. Harry smirked a little bit and debated making some sort of a comment about how they were talking about how he found her attractive. But he figured it was best to go back to the veela conversation.

"Your heritage, mostly," he said diplomatically.

"Oh yes," she said. "Anyway it is nothing special."

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "I think it would be something special. I mean, I've seen what veela can do."

"I am not a veela," Gabrielle scoffed.

"You just said that you were one quarter veela," Harry commented.

"Yes. Which means I am seventy-five percent human," she said tersely. "I am not a veela. I am a regular human girl."

"Sore subject?" Harry asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Can I ask why?" Harry asked.

"Because people had heard of Fleur. So by the time I got to Beauxbatons everyone thought I would be the same way. But I had no interest in playing up to fantasies. Fleur, I think, thought it was fun," Gabrielle tried to explain. But she instead just looked back to her salad. She was not sure how to express exactly what she wanted to say to him. So instead she just hoped that he would understand. Despite the fact that she knew full well that he wouldn't.

"I'm not sure exactly what you're trying to say," Harry said.

"Boys do not have the best views on veela," Gabrielle said. "It lead to things that I did not like. People using their imagination and fantasies rather than paying any attention to reality." She spoke quietly. Harry had a hard time hearing her over the bustle of the café.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"I was regaled with tales from boys about how veela should act. How I should be honored to be entirely theirs. How I was a creature," Gabrielle kept her eyes down.

"How did they even know?" Harry asked.

"I never asked. But I suspect from my surname. I am sure that some of them had siblings who went to school with Fleur. And I suspect some of them had brothers who did far more than went to school with her," Gabrielle blushed as she spoke. Harry was starting to suspect that perhaps the younger sister didn't have the best of feelings for her older sibling. But he wasn't going to broach that subject.

"I see," he said. He could sense that she

"And the worst part is that they knew more about veela than I did. It never came up in my home. It was never a big deal. It was not until my third year when we discussed them in magical creature lectures that I learned about them. And it was after that that I even made the connections with what boys wanted. I felt so stupid when I did," Gabrielle actually laughed. Although it was a hollow sound.

"And that was the reality they weren't paying attention to, then?" Harry asked, refereeing her words from earlier in the conversation.

"Yes. That I was a thirteen year old girl that had never heard of the mountain nymphs they thought I should act like. That I was raised the same way they were, with the same morals they were. That I did not even know what they wanted from me. I did not even know what sex was. And that I was just scared and confused and wanted them to leave me alone," Gabrielle sighed. She shook her head and Harry got the feeling that she didn't really want to continue talking about this subject.

"Did they leave you alone?" Harry asked.

"Eventually," Gabrielle said. "I think they got it that I was not interested. And that if they pestered me I would just leave. And when I started dating Mathieu that stopped some more of them. Josie and Sophie were always overprotective, too, which helped."

"So no fireballs or harpy forms?" Harry asked, trying to sound playful. She smiled at him, so, to some extent, it must have worked.

"No. If we could do those things I suspect Fleur would have managed better in the tournament. The same goes for charming things," Gabrielle said. Harry paused to think about that. And the younger girl had a point. Magical fireballs certainly could have done a number on a hedge maze.

"I guess," he shrugged. "Still would be kind of nifty to be able to do that."

"I would rather be a witch," Gabrielle said.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Veela cannot perform magic with a wand," Gabrielle said. "I would rather be able to do that throw fireballs from my hands."

"I guess," Harry said. Gabrielle just looked around the room. No one was looking at them. She took a moment to take her wand from her small Louis Vuitton bag, the same one she had in the restaurant a few nights earlier, and looked at him.

"And you are a wizard. You can do that anyway," she said, making a fireball appear at the tip of the wand. After a moment, it disappeared. "If we were in private I would have tried to transfigure you into a bird."

"You proved your point readily enough with just that," Harry smiled as she put her wand away. He finished eating his sandwich. She still had a large chunk of her salad left, he suspected from the fact that he'd kept her talking the entire time. She smiled at him and went back to eating. Harry looked out the window and let her.

He thought about her words. He obviously didn't have any specialized knowledge in the field. He'd never really bothered to study the veela race. So he certainly had nothing to base his knowledge on that wasn't rumor or conjecture. But Gabrielle certainly brought up some interesting points.

"So is your wand core the same as Fleur's?" Harry asked after a few moments of silence. Gabrielle looked a little startled.

"I never asked Fleur what her wand was made of," Gabrielle admitted.

"I don't know what the wood was," Harry said. "But at the tournament it was identified to have a veela hair in the core. Fleur said it was donated by your grandmother."

"Oh, no, it is not," Gabrielle said. "Mine is unicorn hair. It is uh, eight inches and holly. It was described as agile," she said. Harry smiled a bit at her.

"Mines holly too," he said. She smiled diplomatically back at him.

"Cool," she said quietly, spearing more of her salad and eating it. After a moment she continued the conversation. "What is inside of it?"

"Phoenix feather," he said, slipping it out from his pocket and placing it down on the table. Gabrielle looked at it for a few moments.

"That is not the wand you had in the pictures at the end of the war," Gabrielle said carefully. Harry just looked at her, a little surprised that she noticed that.

"How can you tell?" he asked.

"That wand is light, like mine. The one you were holding in the pictures was a darker wood," Gabrielle said.

"No one ever noticed that," Harry laughed. Of course, he suspected no one had ever really been looking before, or had bothered to link the two.

"Is that one new?" she asked, turning her attention back to her food.

"No," Harry said. "I just broke it during the war. I was using a replacement during the final battle."

"How did you fix it?" Gabrielle asked, leaning toward it to examine it a bit more. "It looks like it was never damaged."

"That's a story best saved for another day," Harry smiled at her. "I don't have time to do it justice now." She nodded her understanding. If she was honest she was a little bit surprised. It was the first time that she could remember him not answering one of her questions. It just made her all the more curious about it.

"Okay," was all she managed to day in response, though. And she finished her salad. A few moments later their waiter returned. Gabrielle wasn't sure when he put his wand away, but it was not on the table when the man approached. Harry paid immediately and then just looked at her.

"Shall we?" he asked. She nodded and stood.

"Okay. I suspect Mathieu will be missing me by now," she responded. And they both stood and started walking back to the portkey station.

Gabrielle had to admit, too, as they weaved through the crowded streets, that she rather liked walking with him. He stood right next to her as they weaved through the streets. He did not take her hand, or her arm. But she would not have let him anyway. It was nice, though, to not have the assumption there. He made no claim on her. Instead he just walked with her, like an equal.

"I always liked walking in Paris," she said quietly as they moved toward their destination.

"I've never really spent any time here," Harry said. "But seeing as I'm English, and that my primary residence is there, I'm required to state that London is a better city."

"At least it does not rain daily in Paris," Gabrielle scoffed in as much of a teasing tone as she could muster.

"It's not quite daily in London either," Harry countered. Gabrielle just rolled her eyes.

"Spend some time in Paris. I suspect you'll like it. I always feel wonderful in the city. Almost like vacation. But I could just spend every moment here," Gabrielle said. Harry just smiled at her.

"I'd have to learn French," Harry frowned.

"You should do that anyway," Gabrielle said. "It is good to know multiple languages."

"But that's effort that could be otherwise spent doing things that are entertaining to me," Harry countered.

"You sound like Titus," Gabrielle teased.

"I guess I do," Harry said jovially.

"That is not a compliment," Gabrielle commented.

"Going to take it as one anyway," Harry said. Gabrielle just rolled her eyes. But she was smiling. She was secretly amused at how he could say things like that, without seeming to have a care in the world. And somehow, through all of that, still make her smile. It was refreshing. She guessed it also helped that she was not on her guard when she was with him. Which made everything seem more relaxing.

"Did you vacation in Paris with your parents?" Harry asked.

"Never more than a day trip," Gabrielle said. "They liked to go more to like Sicily or Spain when we took family vacations."

"I see," Harry said. "Never been to Spain. But I did play an exhibition match in Sicily. Just outside of Palermo."

"And you won?" Gabrielle asked.

"Nope," Harry frowned. "I rode the bench though. Was nursing a shoulder injury from a rogue bludger in practice."

"Is rogue code for 'said something that annoyed Titus,'" Gabrielle asked.

"You're catching on quickly," Harry responded.

"Is all of your traveling quidditch related?" Gabrielle asked.

"Usually," Harry admitted. "Typically by the end of the season I'm worn out with traveling and just retire to London and spend time catching up with friends. Every now and then I go somewhere. But it's usually someplace that I wouldn't go while playing quidditch."

"Like New York," Gabrielle said.

"Exactly," Harry agreed

"Well this offseason you should take a vacation to Paris. Spend a few days here. You will love it," Gabrielle said confidently.

"You sure about that?" Harry asked, gazing toward an elaborate hotel entrance as they stepped by it.

"Yes," she nodded emphatically.

"So you're saying we should just go get a room," he nodded to the hotel, "and spend a few days here without a care in the world?"

"What? No!" she looked toward the hotel and flushed crimson.

"But you're right. I could use a vacation," he teased. "Let's go get a room, head upstairs, cuddle up and relax for a couple of days." Gabrielle just stared at him. But, to her credit, she came up with an out in a hurry.

"I would miss my audition," she said quietly. And Harry just beamed at her.

"You're going to audition for the ballet?" he asked.

"Yes," Gabrielle said. "I asked Madame Fay and she thought it was a good idea."

"Really? She doesn't strike me as the type that thinks any idea that wasn't hers is a good idea," Harry said.

"She is not that terrible," Gabrielle said. Harry suspected it was out of instinct.

"So you've said," Harry responded.

"Anyway," Gabrielle resumed back on the topic of the audition. "She had been looking for something that would allow me to get group experience but not interfere with my Beauxbatons schedule. She thinks it will be a wonderful opportunity."

"Well that's good," Harry said.

"I am looking forward to it," Gabrielle nodded. "But I do not know what to expect. I have never auditioned before."

"So it will be a good learning experience," Harry said. Gabrielle just nodded as they entered the Portkey station. Harry arranged to get them on the next one to Britain. It wasn't that close to Falmouth, but when they arrived he apparated them straight back to his house. She was tempted to make a comment about how she suspected that he would have made them walk the whole way. But she did not as Mathieu greeted her with questions about whether or not she passed. Harry let them talk and went about preparing himself for the match.

Unfortunately, Derrick Lunfrey had decided to have a type of celebration before the match. Which pushed back the start, which then made Harry more annoyed about the standing around that he had to do.

Lunfrey had simply decided that since four of the starting seven of the English National Team were playing in the match, they'd have a small ceremony congratulating them. It was a nice gesture, Harry guessed. And either way, Lunfrey was wise to include the Tornadoes players. As everyone got a rather loud cheer when they were announced.

But mostly Harry found himself standing next to Titus near the center of the pitch as the local Falcon's wireless announcer interviewed each of the players briefly, asking about what it meant to be on the national roster. He started with the Tornadoes players. Harry didn't pay attention to their answers.

Instead he focused on what he knew of the two of them.

He knew very little about Jason Williams. He'd played his entire career for Tutshill and he was the face of their franchise. He'd put together some very impressive scoring numbers in the last few years. But Harry suspected they were slightly inflated because the other chasers he played with were better at setting up shots than scoring themselves.

Harry knew the chaser was a handful of years older than himself. And a couple older than Titus. Of the starting seven that were announced he was the oldest on the team. But only a couple of days older than Claire Wright, one of the other chasers on the team.

He didn't have the best reputation in the league, either. William had been involved in a rather public spat with his coach a few years back. He'd been concerned with the direction that Tutshill was heading and made his views known. Aside from that, he had the same playboy reputation that Titus had.

Harry suspected that Titus and Jason would get along swimmingly, if they didn't already know each other through something or another. But he was a bit more worried about whether or not he'd be able to get along with him.

Of course, he could always just hang out with Oliver in Greece if Titus and Jason ran off together.

Harry knew Felicity Hillard better, but not all that much. She was the same age as Titus and had been a beater for Hufflepuff before becoming the captain of the Tutshill Tornadoes. Harry was pretty sure she'd actually dated Titus briefly at school. But he wasn't entirely sure about that.

Either way, he'd had some experience with her. They'd both mentored kids at a couple of offseason quidditch camps. The professionals that volunteered for those were typically elder veterans who were trying to hang around in the league. But Felicity and Harry had both agreed as a favor to Cleansweep.

They'd hung out both times purely because they were the closest in age. But it didn't entail much more than chatting on occasion and having their charges eat the provided meals at the same times.

She'd seemed nice. But she was always hyper-focused on whatever she was doing. So there hadn't been much time to joke around or anything. As a player Harry knew she was an extremely capable beater. Although her strength was in positioning and strategy and not actually hitting the bludger.

He was asked questions next. He gave standard answers and got it over with as soon as he possibly could. He had to admit, he loved clichés. They made his job so much easier.

Titus gave more detailed answers and the crowd cheered him rather loudly. He waved and smiled and was all together a perfect show pony. Harry made a mental note to give him crap for that at some point in the near future.

He was rather surprised when there was music playing in the locker room as he and Titus returned. They were both already in full uniform, having been required to wear it during the ceremony.

"How long until Lunfrey shows up to lecture?" Harry asked, gazing toward the interim coach sitting in the head's office and looking a little alarmed and uncomfortable.

"He won't," Titus said. "I told him not to."

"And you think he's going to listen to that?" Harry asked.

"I think he might," Titus said.

"What did you threaten him with?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," Titus said. "I just told him that typically the general manager doesn't talk to the team before or after matches. So he'd best do with a hands-off approach and see if he likes those results better."

"So if we keep losing then we have to be subjected to him again?" Harry asked.

"Probably, so I suggest you catch the snitch and prevent that from happening," Titus said.

"Yes sir," Harry responded with a faux salute. Titus just shook his head and turned toward the team. But after a moment he shifted to a more serious tone. "What do you want me to do?"

"Win," Titus laughed.

"Got it," Harry nodded, understanding that he was being given free-reign of the pitch.

"Alright. Let's go," he said. Some of the players looked like they were expecting more of a speech than that. But Titus just led them to the tunnel out of the pitch. He pushed Foster out first with some sort of word of encouragement and then did the same for each player in the line. Harry flew out just in front of Titus. He hovered in his usual spot, watching the Tornadoes warm up, as Titus flew toward the chasers and kept shouting words of encouragement.

Harry waited for the match to begin. His eyes found Gabrielle and Mathieu in the stands. She was wearing a pink and white Falmouth Falcon's jersey. He could see the pink numbering on the sleeve. And he couldn't help but smirk when he saw it was a seventeen. Mathieu couldn't have liked that.

He sat next to her, dressed as formally as ever. But he had a happier expression on his face as he watched the players fly around the pitch. Harry looked at the blonde with him for another few moments before turning back to the match.

When it did begin he immediately dove toward the quaffle and snatched it away from one of the Tornadoes chasers. He sped directly toward the Tutshill seeker, who simply dived out of the way, and tossed the quaffle to Cora. She relayed it to Neal and they were up ten to nothing just a few seconds after the match began.

He couldn't know it, but it was the quickest goal the Falmouth Falcons had scored in their last thirty-five matches.

He floated back on defense, making sure he kept his opposite in check while he attempted to help out the chasers. As the Tornadoes moved into the Falcons zone he cut off toward the stands.

But it was all simply a diversion as he immediately cut back around the same time Williams tried to relay the pass to another chaser. Harry intercepted it easily enough. He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Williams laughing with disbelief as he sped off down toward the Tornadoes's hoops.

Unfortunately, his chasers were as surprised as the Tornadoes. So he found himself alone on the rush. He weaved around Hillard and dodged a bludger from the other beater before shooting off toward the hoops. He faked to the left side ring and as soon as the keeper moved he chucked it as hard as he could toward top of the center hoop. It deflected in and he smirked as he sped off to trail the Tornadoes's seeker.

Harry made a mental note to look up his statistics and see just how many goals he needed to pass Titus, too.

Unfortunately for the Falcons, they didn't keep the momentum for very long. The Tornadoes seeker kept Harry in check better for the next bit of the match. And Williams managed to score a few times. But Eva, Cora, and Ben were playing better than they had before. And, surprisingly, Jordan Wall seemed to much better than he had been in the past.

Harry suspected that it was as much Titus's help as it was the lack of pressure from Ralph Davis. Either way, any further analysis would have to wait until the match had finished.

He cut through a Tornado rush. He couldn't stop it, but it put Ben in position to take a shot for the quaffle. He missed, but he did prevent a quality shot on the hoops. Sarah Foster relayed the quaffle to Cora and they started once again on the rush.

And the match simply ebbed one way or another. The Falcons were, rather surprisingly in Harry's estimation, actually playing with the Tornadoes chaser lines. Harry remembered thinking that they'd had about as much of a chance in this match as they had against the Magpies.

And sure, the Tornadoes still had the advantage. But they weren't pulling a lead out as other teams had in the past. In fact, they probably had the advantage when Harry switched into the chaser role. But he wanted to be more cautious. He knew that he couldn't risk losing sight of the Tornadoes seeker for too long. So he'd switch in and out of the traditional role, making sure he knew every detail of the match as it unfolded.

They continued playing, and Harry couldn't help but notice something different. It wasn't like playing in previous games. They were playing much more loose. Perhaps it was because the expectations seemed less with the coach missing. The keeper coach who'd taken over certainly wasn't making any attempt at offering up much advice to anyone not named Sarah Foster.

Yet every time Harry passed a teammate, they seemed to be smiling, or smirking, or at least seeming like they were enjoying the match much more than he remembered. And Harry couldn't blame them. They were being competitive with one of the better teams in the league.

Still, Harry knew that could all go away if it turned into an additional notch in the loss column. The mood of a quidditch match could change in seconds. And he had to make sure that didn't happen.

So he turned his focus to the snitch. He figured, given the pace of play, he had probably a half hour to find it before he'd need to support the chasers some more. He didn't like leaving them out to dry like that, but the win was too important, if they were to be competitive.

It was twenty-eight minutes before he decided to give up. He saw nothing that was remotely close to a golden ball. He shifted and flew back toward the chasers. The scoreboard wasn't as bad as he suspected. One of their chasers must have been having a huge game.

He dove around Williams. The chaser was shooting around to the pitch and trying to get open. Harry corkscrewed and figured he could cover him while he searched the other half of the pitch.

As soon as he turned he had to struggle to not laugh. The snitch was floating under Williams's broom, mirroring his movements. It had been almost two years since he'd seen a snitch decide to mime a player. He couldn't help but wonder just how long it had been there for. Most times they'd only stick around for a couple of minutes.

Harry pushed his Comet toward the other chaser. Williams noticed immediately and started jostling him for position. Harry tried to keep his play clean, swooping around the chaser. He didn't want to draw too much attention to the fact that he knew where the snitch was, for fear that Williams would simply fly over toward his seeker and end the match that way.

But he couldn't get a line underneath the chaser. Williams was too talented to make the catch easy. Harry flipped around Williams's side, blocking him from receiving a pass from his teammates.

And then he caught sight of Wall. Who was attempting to cover that side of the pitch. With a quick signal he got the beater's attention. Jordan nodded and called for a bludger from Titus. Titus intercepted one from Hillard. He looked like every fiber of his being wanted to send it into the other two Tornadoes chasers, but he passed it over to Jordan. Wall smacked it as hard as he could right at Harry. Harry smirked and kept flying at it, even with Jason.

At least until the last second. At that point he rolled away from the iron ball. Williams could sense it as well. He rolled the opposite of Harry, clearing the bludger easily. But the snitch didn't follow him, and Harry scooped it up. He heard the shrill whistle that ended the match almost immediately. He sped off toward the official to confirm the catch, before taking the snitch back and flying off to join the celebration.

He flew into Wall, clasping him on the back and handing him the snitch. The beater looked a bit shocked by that and held the golden ball in his hands as Titus spoke up.

"And that's a quidditch match!" he yelled over the din of the fans. "Keep playing like that and we have a shot!" The team cheered. Harry linked his arms around Eva and Wall as they cheered. He just smiled and looked around.

It just felt right. Finally, after a handful of matches, it felt like it should after a quidditch win. Everyone was happy, and he knew the joyous mood would continue into the locker room. He knew, too, they were one step closer to becoming a coherent unit, capable of actually playing with the better teams in the league.

He didn't listen to the rest of Titus's post match comments. He was sure that he'd probably heard them all before. But that bit didn't matter. He was happy. And it had been far too long since he'd felt really happy. He couldn't help but wonder if finally things were returning to how they should be.

Author's Note: As always, thanks for reading and reviewing. I do appreciate it. The best way to contact me and get some sport of response is usually through the onsite pm system. I try to respond to everything that I receive through that medium.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Zaion Indulias for the beta work on this chapter.

Chapter 16

Harry and Titus took the floo straight to the London hotel they were supposed to meet the rest of the National Team. Titus yawned and stretched his arms over his head as they stepped through the fire. He looked around the elaborate hotel, for anyone to get directions from. He didn't look at his friend, but he suspected he was doing the same thing.

After a couple of moments he gave up and walked up to the desk a few feet from the floo. The concierge. Titus chatted with her for a few moments before asking where he was supposed to go. She directed the two quidditch players to a private room off of one of the restaurants and congratulated them on making the national team.

Titus remembered thanking her and proceeding toward the private room she'd referenced. He walked in before Harry and looked around. Wood and Spinnet were already there, seated at the table that had been set up with ten chairs around it.

"Hey," Titus said as he stepped in. Both players looked at him, then looked to his side.

"Harry!" Alicia exclaimed before standing and hugging her former teammate tightly.

"Potter!" Wood yelled as well and walked up to the young seeker, clasping him on the back as Alicia finally let go of. Titus just chuckled quietly to himself before stepping to the side.

"It's good to see you guys too," Harry laughed.

"It's going to be nice to play together again," Oliver commented.

"That's for sure," Alicia said.

"I know I can't wait," Harry said. But then he gestured over to Titus. "This is Titus Button."

"We know," Oliver said.

"Indeed," Alicia said, eyeing the beater carefully.

"Nice to formally meet you," Titus joked.

"Better than whacking bludgers at us?" Oliver asked.

"Not really, no," Titus responded to laughing from the other three players.

"There anything to drink?" Harry asked, looking around the room. Titus looked around as well. He figured he could use a beer. Or at least a glass of water.

"Not yet, no," Oliver said. "For some reason I get the strangest feeling they won't be feeding us."

"Then why have it here?" Alicia asked.

"No idea," Oliver said. "Just a convienent location I guess. Doesn't look like we'll be getting much more than introductions. I mean hell, there's ten chairs and seven of us."

"Coach makes eight," Harry said. "I suspect that they know who that's going to be by now."

"And who's that?" A voice asked from the doorway. Titus turned to see Jason Williams and Felicity Hillard enter. They were both dressed casually in standard Tornadoes workout clothing, and he suspected they were the only two players who hadn't had the day off.

"Losing to Falmouth result in extra practices?" Wood teased. And Titus suspected he wasn't the only one who'd made that connection.

"Yeah," Williams sighed. "How long was the snitch following me?"

"I noticed it for about two minutes," Harry said. Titus hadn't even been paying attention to the details of Harry's catch from the last game. All he really knew is that his friend had done wonders for Jordan Wall's confidence level. Titus also knew that his friend probably didn't even realize just how much he'd helped out the young beater by doing that.

"Damn it," Jason sighed. "Should have just flown over toward Johnson. Never saw the damn thing though."

"Should have," Harry affirmed.

"But yes," Felicity said. "Losing to Falmouth did not go over well with our coaching staff." She exchanged a playful glare with Harry and Titus.

"I understand why," Alicia said. "Falmouth is a pushover. We even got them to bench Potter and fire their coach."

"Ouch," Titus smiled. If he was honest this was one of his favorite parts of being a professional quidditch player. He knew that fans often thought that the players on their favorite team absolutely hated their rivals. But the truth was that most of them were friends, and had played with and against each other for years. They shared a certain bond that most fans didn't even realize existed.

And Titus's favorite moments were when he could just get together with other players and talk about quidditch in a way that most fans didn't understand, focusing on the minor details of the game and just sharing their love for it.

"Don't worry," Harry said. "You can tell your coach that we'll knock the Bats out of playoff contention before we do you."

"I'm not sure he'll find that amusing. He certainly didn't like when I called Falmouth Ballycastle-lite at practice," Williams said.

"Oh don't go talking about playing each other in the playoffs," Wood frowned. "I just want to not have to spend the entire game praying my team actually scores a goal."

"There's a while before we have to worry about winning another title, anyway," Alicia said, smirking at Titus.

"What was that?" Titus said.

"Oh you know," Alicia teased. "Just thinking about how nice it will be to win the title this year."

"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention," Titus said. "I was daydreaming about how nice my two championship rings look together. And how the Falmouth gray of the third one will look splendid between the Ballycastle black of the other two."

"That confident, eh Button?" Wood asked.

"Of course," Titus said. "It's easy. You just hop on Harry's back and a few months later you're a league champion."

"At least he's lost weight," Harry said dryly causing the other players to laugh.

"I'm just looking forward to playing with these two." Jason nodded toward Titus and Harry. There were some more nods from the rest of the players, and Titus just smiled as he looked around.

"Me too," Claire Wright said as she entered the room.

"It should be interesting," Oliver nodded.

"We're not that entertaining," Harry said sheepishly.

"I still wonder who the coach is going to be," Alicia said.

"Me too," Oliver agreed. Titus watched all of the other players nod.

"It'll be Lewis Barker," Harry said.

"What makes you say that?" Hillard asked. Titus watched how she eyed him. It was a careful, focused stare. He thought, for a moment, that there may have been something between the two of them.

But, of course, Harry wasn't like him. He didn't really go looking for casual relations. Titus was pretty sure he knew everyone Harry had ever been with. And it was not a very distinguished list.

Really, the only one that ever gave him pause was Eva. Sometimes, especially early in the Ballycastle careers, he would have sworn that the two were a couple. But they'd never been spotted out together, and they'd never admitted to anything. Titus had asked Harry once, and Harry had just stared at him for a few moments, before shaking his head slowly and changing the subject.

And when he'd asked Eva she'd just laughed at him and gone off about her business. So Titus suspected he was probably closer with his theory that she wasn't interested in men, than he was with his theory of the two of them being a couple.

So in short, he thought he'd have probably known if Harry had any sort of contact at all with Felicity Hillard. And since he was pretty sure his friend didn't, he was tempted to see if Felicity wanted to duck into a cleaning closet at the hotel and act like they were back at Hogwarts.

"The players," Harry said, dragging Titus back into the conversation.

"How so?" Oliver asked.

"Well you have me and Titus, and you all know how we prefer to play the game. Past that you have two of the most versatile chasers in business," Harry gestured to Alicia and Claire as he spoke. "They're both beyond adept at adapting to any situation. And then you throw the best English goal scorer of the last three seasons on the line with them." Harry gestured to Williams as he spoke. Titus watched Jason smirk and nod back at Harry.

And Titus couldn't help but wonder about his friend. For as much as he claimed he hated the public eye, or being put in charge of things, he had a certain presence about him that called for it. Even now, he'd captivated the entire room without anyone really noticing. But each player was hanging off his words.

"Then Felicity is known for being quick and able to get around the pitch and help out in all situations. As opposed to Gwenog Jones who barely every flies out of the defensive end," Harry continued. "And then finally there's Wood, who, forgive me if this is insulting, is clearly used to operating without much defensive support."

"No offense taken," Oliver said.

"So you think we're going to have six players in the opposition's zone at times?" Felicity asked.

"I have no idea," Harry said. "But I know Lewis always wanted faster chasers in Ballycastle, but he was straddled with the contracts of Stretton and Green and didn't have much room to operate there. I think that the emphasis will be on scoring and forcing a higher pace of play."

"And you two are more familiar with this, obviously, because you played for him," Alicia said, gesturing to Titus and Harry.

"We are," Titus said. "But I don't know how well Harry's theory would go over with most of the organizers of the national team."

"It probably went over poorly. But England had what, one win in pool play last time? And they were in the weakest pool in the entire World Cup? I suspect he didn't have to lobby that hard. Either way, he does have something in common with the rest of us," Harry said.

"What's that?" Claire Wright asked.

"He's young, attractive, and English," Harry teased. "Our average age is like twenty-six, last time it was thirty-five."

"I didn't realize you were into forty-something coaches," Alicia said dryly. Harry just smiled at her. He didn't have to think of a response, though. Because at that point, Lewis Barker entered the room. He wore all black, and looked rather serious with his black hair and dark eyes. He gazed around at the players, giving both Titus and Harry the curtest of nods.

Behind him was Ludo Bagman. Titus just blinked a bit at seeing the man. He'd been working as a color commentator for the Wasps for the last few years in an attempt to pay off the vast majority of his debts. Titus hadn't heard much of him in the last few years. But the man was much thinner and a bit more haggard looking than he had been during the Triwizard tournament. He just smiled at the players as well. Harry wondered if his complete carefree attitude was gone.

And behind him was Draco Malfoy. While Titus had been surprised to see Bagman, he'd been shocked to see Draco. He knew that Draco worked at the ministry, and had been a junior member of the Department of Magical Games and Sports for the last couple of years. But he had no idea just how he'd wrangled his way into this meeting.

Titus turned his gaze to Harry to see how his friend was taking it. To his credit, Harry had the same passive expression he almost always wore in situations he'd rather not be in. But he did not seem to be acknowledging Draco's presence.

"Alright, you're all here," Barker said, gazing around. "I'm sure you all know each other and I'm sure you all know me. But I'm Lewis Barker. With me tonight is Ludo Bagman, who's volunteered his time to help out with whatever we need as long as it does not conflict with his duties with the Wasps, and Draco Malfoy, standing in for Joseph Lattimer as the Ministry representation."

"We should probably take a seat," Draco said, looking like he wanted to take control of the meeting. He looked down at a clipboard he was holding that appeared to be littered with writing. Titus couldn't help but smirk as none of the players moved to the chairs.

"Standing is fine," Lewis said. "This meeting won't take long. As I told you and your boss it isn't relevant."

"Mr. Lattimer disagrees," Malfoy said coldly.

"Mr. Lattimer is an idiot," Lewis Barker responded dryly. Malfoy opened his mouth to respond. But after a moment, and Titus assumed the realization that Barker wasn't paying any attention to him, he closed it.

"So what's the point of this," Harry asked after a moment.

"It's protocol to have introductions and discuss the upcoming schedules," Draco said. Oliver and Jason actually chuckled. Barker just nodded.

"Exactly. Apparently the fact that you've almost all played with each other before, and have all played against each other on countless occasions means you have no clue who is who," Barker explained. Titus didn't have the heart to comment that there were stats about how many times they'd played against each other, so it certainly wasn't a countless number. It was something he'd have been chastised for saying at a Ballycastle practice anyway, so it seemed easier to avoid it.

"Introductions are important for team building," Ludo said. He was standing next to Draco. Titus couldn't help but think his presence here was completely inconsequential.

"So is practicing together and actually having pitch time," Lewis said. "But since we don't have those luxuries, I suspect we'll be just fine if we don't all go around giving our names and discussing whether or not we like long walks on the beach."

"Well what do you suggest is done then," Draco scoffed. "Since you have this time."

"Frankly, Mr. Malfoy, I simply wanted to get a look at my team and see if they're as committed as I hoped they would be. I lobbied rather hard to have a very specific set of seven players. I wanted them to know they've all been picked for a reason." Barker gazed at each player as he spoke, letting his eyes linger on everyone on the team.

"And that reason is?" Oliver asked.

"It varies from player to player. The Ministry hopes we can contend for fifth or sixth. They find that to be enough of an improvement. I suspect none of you feel that way," Barker's eyes lingered the longest on Harry.

"No sir," Williams said from the corner.

"I suspected not," Barker said. "You seven are the strongest starting line the English have posted in probably a century. I can't guarantee that will lead to success. I also plan on forcing you to play a style of quidditch that we've adapted in Ballycastle in the last few years. But I do think that we have a shot at being much better than fifth or sixth."

"Hell yes," Titus nodded.

"Good. Now we do have one bit of procedural to accomplish before we can end this useless meeting," Lewis took out his wand and transfigured some of the arrangements on the table into a hat, small pieces of paper, and quills.

"You've been here for five minutes and you're already wrapping up?" Draco looked shocked.

"What do we have to do?" Hillard asked.

"We need to select a captain," Barker said. "Traditionally, as you know, the captain of a national team is responsible for the media coverage and events, presenting the team at all occasions, and being the overall face of what we're going for. The on-pitch requirements are less, as players are given more of a free roam during the matches."

"We know," Wood said quietly.

"Most teams," Barker continued, ignoring the interruption. "Pick one much closer to actual play, based on who stood out during the practices. I don't have the time for that. And I doubt you have the time for that. You all know each other well enough. I want you to all place a vote for who should represent you. Do not vote for yourself." He gestured to the supplies on the table.

Titus walked over with the rest of the players and grabbed a quill and some paper. He then looked around the room, and noticed the other players were all sizing each other up as well.

Titus knew that Hillard was the captain of the Tornadoes. She'd been in the position for two years and was well liked by her players. She was certainly a good option, especially if he couldn't vote for himself.

Of course, if he was honest, the thought of representing all of England frightened him a lot more than representing the Falcons or Bats. Being responsible for a handful of players seemed much easier than having the hopes of a nation.

Titus didn't put much stock in any of the chasers. None of them were captains on their own teams. And, as a group, they were all too focused on being the best possible chaser to really worry about the team as a whole. He barely spent more than a few seconds mentally crossing them off the list.

That left him with Potter and Wood. He knew Wood built strong Gryffindor teams and had plenty of leadership skills. But in the professional ranks, keepers just weren't captains. It came with the position. It was hard to discuss penalties with officials, or call plays, from the hoops. Captains were required to be mobile, and keepers were anything but.

He turned his gaze to Harry last. His friend had already filled out his paper and dropped it into the hat without any sort of pomp or circumstance. Titus knew Harry wasn't interested in the position. But that could have been more of an asset than a detriment. He was very good with the media, and no matter what he did he'd be the center of attention anyway.

Titus just frowned down at the piece of paper. He paused for a moment, staring at it and wondering how he'd vote. Eventually, he came up with a decision. He bit his lips together and he started the large loop of the 'h' and hoped his friend would understand as he dropped the vote into the hat.

"The captaincy was not supposed to be determined by a player vote," Draco said, sounding annoyed by the entire situation.

"I know," Barker responded, staring at the hat as his team made their decision.

"So this is a waste of time," Malfoy said.

"You're free to leave," Barker responded dryly.

"I am required to be here through the duration of the meeting to ensure there is no collusion amongst the players on separate league teams," Draco responded dryly.

"We're going to hear that a lot, aren't we," Wood asked as he submitted his vote.

"Yes," Barker responded.

"Why?" Wright magically levitated her vote into the hat.

"Because owners think that any time players from different teams gather their only thought is how to come up with some scheme to go against the collective bargaining agreement," Barker said.

"Sounds annoyingly complicated," Titus said.

"It is," Barker responded. "But it's one of the many things you'll get to deal with this fall."

"Sounds fun," Alicia said as she put her vote into the hat. She was the last person to wander over and do so. Barker picked up the hat and looked at it. Titus realized he was actually nervous. The knotting in his stomach was a strangely unfamiliar feeling. Barker looked over at Draco and shook the hat in his direction.

"Would you like to do the honors?" Barker asked.

"No," Draco said. "Mr. Lattimer is not going to agree with whatever you decide tonight anyway."

"He will," Barker said with a knowing air. Draco just crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head in a way that indicated he highly doubted that Lewis Barker would be given free reign.

"I'll take the honors," Bagman said, walking over toward the Ballycastle coach.

"Thank you, Ludo," Barker responded, holding the hat toward him. Bagman reached in and pulled out the first name.

"Button," Bagman said, and Titus felt his stomach clench a little bit more. He assumed it was Potter's vote. Somehow, he knew that Potter was going to vote for him, regardless. But he also knew that he really only needed two more votes to be the captain of the English National Team.

And the thought scared him. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be the captain of the English team. But he certainly wouldn't say no if he was voted it. After a few moments Lewis held the hat up to Bagman again.

"Potter," Bagman said as he took another piece of paper out of the hat. Titus looked over to his friend and couldn't help but smirk at the look of surprise on his face. In his opinion Harry should have known better. Really, if he hadn't been drafted by the Bats, Titus suspected he'd already be the captain of his team.

Lewis Barker put the pieces of paper down on the table and offered the hat in the general direction of Malfoy again. The ministry representative just glared at the coach and made no motion to move. So Barker offered the hat back to Bagman.

"Hillard," Ludo said after he picked out another piece of paper. He handed it to the coach who examined it for a moment before placing it down on the table as well. Titus looked over at his counterpart and noticed she was beaming. Williams was looking at her too, from the corner of his eye. The chaser looked rather happy for her. Barker seemed non-pulsed by the entire situation as he handed the hat toward Bagman once more.

"Potter!" Bagman said, a little more loudly this time. He was clearly becoming a bit more entertained by being center stage at the moment. Titus ignored him and watched as Barker put the second vote for his friend underneath the first on the table.

"Hillard!" Bagman said again as he took yet another name from the hat. Barker put it underneath the same one. Titus frowned a bit. He'd hoped he would garner more than just Harry's vote.

"Button!" Bagman said as he handed the vote to Barker, who put it underneath the first one for Titus as well. Titus could feel his lips turning into the smile as he stared at the six votes on the table. Barker looked down at them before offering the hat to Malfoy once more.

"Well, what do you say, pick the deciding vote?" Barker asked, shaking the hat at Malfoy.

"That's quite alright," Malfoy said and Barker just offered the hat to Bagman for the final time. The former beater reached in and pulled the card out with a practiced flourish.

"Potter!" he said loudly. Titus just smiled and shook his head a bit. He looked over toward his friend and actually felt happy for him. Harry just looked a little bit stunned. There was some clapping and Titus heard a few of the other players congratulate his friend.

"Well," Barker said, staring down at all the votes on the table. "Congratulations Mr. Potter."

"Uhm, thanks," Harry said. Barker nodded at him and looked around.

"Well I trust you'll be telling the media, Ludo?" he asked the beater. Bagman nodded.

"Of course. I'll go make sure someone knows now. I suspect they'll be eager to talk to Mr. Potter."

"I'm sure," Lewis said. "But that can wait a while, I think. I have your schedules here." And he floated a piece of paper over to each of the players. They all took some time to examine it.

"We don't get a whole lot of time to practice as a team," Wood said.

"That's fairly normal for cup play," Barker said. "All of the countries have virtually the same schedule. So it is not a detriment."

"I'd still like more on pitch time," Wood sighed.

"Me too," Spinnet agreed.

"We all would," Barker said. "But that's just not what it is."

"We'll be fine," Harry said. "It should only take a practice or two to get up to speed. After all, we're professionals."

"He's right," Barker nodded. "And really, that's all for tonight. As you can see, your next commitment is a team photo shoot in two weeks once the reserve players are set."

"Any word on who those are going to be?" Titus asked. Barker just shrugged.

"Honestly, Button, I don't really have a clue. I was approached about coaching this team shortly after the title match at the end of last season. I told them there was no way I would do it unless I could pick the roster."

"They agreed with that?" Wright asked.

"No," Barker said. "But after some negotiating I was allowed to hand pick the starting seven. But they have full control over the reservists. I suspect we will see quite a few of the people who were on the team in previous world cups."

"So the reservists are all going to hate us?" Williams said.

"They might," Barker shrugged.

"That sounds fantastic for team chemistry," Hillard said.

"Don't really care. Just none of you get hurt. Because I suspect that the reservists I'm given will not be able to play the style that I want," Barker said.

"We'll do our best," Titus laughed.

"Great. Well, I'm going home now," he said. "You're welcome to stay and listen to Mr. Malfoy give Mr. Lattimer's speech about how it's an honor to represent England in this competition. Or you can leave. I don't care either way." And the coach turned and left the room.

"You're required to stay for the speech," Malfoy said. Harry, though, just shrugged his shoulders and followed Barker out of the room. Titus followed him and caught up with him as they approached the floo.

"Congrats on winning the vote," Titus said.

"It should have been you," Harry countered.

"No," Titus sighed. "It probably shouldn't have. As he said, the National Team is more about appearances. You're far better at that stuff than I am. And you have that ability to get the media to go away."

"It's a handy skill," Harry nodded.

"Yes, it is. It makes me envious," Titus laughed.

"So you've said," Harry responded. "I really didn't want to be the captain."

"Yeah, I know," Titus said. "But you're going to be completely fantastic at it. So suck it up and let's go win a world cup for England." Titus spoke with the driest tone he could, attempting to sound like a condescending parent that was trying to convince a child to eat some vegetables.

"Screw you," Harry laughed.

"Hey," Titus said as they approached the floo. "You can't blame me for this one."

"Why not?" Harry asked as he took some powder and tossed it into the fire. He turned his gaze up at his friend after he activated the fire.

"I voted for Hillard," Titus said as he stepped through and back to their Falmouth home.

They stepped out of the fire and Harry immediately wandered toward the kitchen. He was planning on making himself something to eat. Although he wasn't particularly sure what he wanted.

He stepped into the kitchen to see Gabrielle chopping celery into tiny pieces. She looked up at him before refocusing on her task.

"How was your meeting?" she asked. Harry didn't get the feeling she really cared, but he figured if she was being nice, he may as well be nice.

"It was fine. A bit boring, really. Just some preliminary stuff," Harry explained with a shrug of his shoulders.

"When is your next one?" Gabrielle asked. Harry just focused on the sound the knife made hitting the cutting board as she quickly cut up the celery.

"I honestly haven't looked at the schedule yet. Probably not for a couple of weeks. The work load is pretty light until closer to the world cup."

"Do you not need to practice?" Gabrielle asked.

"We practice almost daily," Harry said. "Just not with each other."

"Do you not need to practice together?" Gabrielle asked. "It seems like that would be kind of crucial to fielding a team."

"It is," Harry said. "But we are professionals. So we don't take all that long to get up to speed with each other."

"Really?" Gabrielle said.

"Yes," Harry responded. "We'll only need a couple of practices to get the feel of things and get ready to play. And all the teams are on equal footing."

"I guess that makes sense," Gabrielle said. "But why did it not work for Falmouth?"

"That's an interesting question," Harry said. "I would say that probably purely because of coaching. Davis never let us actually practice as a team. So I would suspect that had something to do with it. The feeling was rather different on the pitch than it was at any other time."

"I see," Gabrielle said. She went back to chopping celery and Harry just kept talking.

"And the caliber of player on the national team will be rather different than the Falmouth Falcons. We're all going to be more adept at adapting than most regular players. And again, we're not playing against teams that have played together for years."

"I hope you are right," Gabrielle said. Harry could tell that she wasn't really interested in the conversation, but she was keeping him talking for the sake of being nice. He decided that he'd prattled on about quidditch for long enough.

"What are you making?" he asked.

"Tuna salad," she responded as she slipped the pieces of chopped celery into a larger container and started to mix everything together.

"Any particular reason?" he asked.

"I enjoy it," Gabrielle said. Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"Never been a tuna fan myself," he said.

"I have always liked it. It is good on toast. I should probably get started on popcorn for Titus," Gabrielle said. Harry just stared at her.

"Why are you making popcorn for Titus?" he asked.

"Because he asked me to," Gabrielle said.

"Usually things Titus asks you to do are best left, well, not done," Harry responded. Gabrielle just looked at him for a moment, and then shook her head. He suspected she thought that sentence simply sounded ridiculous. Really, he was just glad he didn't have to defend it.

"Perhaps. But Popcorn is innocent enough. And it will go well with the show he is going to make me watch tonight," Gabrielle said.

"He's making you watch a show?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Gabrielle said. "He insisted on it. Apparently it is some show that everyone should watch because it is the best show of all time."

"Well I hope your expectations aren't that high," Harry said, knowing that Titus was prone to exaggerating. But he also knew what show his friend would have been referring to. While he also enjoyed it, he had a hard time believing it would be something that was interesting to Gabrielle. Still, if she'd agreed to watch, she had to have been at least mildly interested.

"Should they not be?" Gabrielle asked. "I was told that you enjoyed the show."

"Enjoyed it, sure," Harry said. "But I enjoy all sorts of things. Like if someone tells me there's a few reruns of Doctor Who or Battlestar on, I'm there."

"I do not know what those are," Gabrielle said.

"Well, you'd probably be better off going with those than anything else," Harry said. His stomach rumbled and he regretted that there wasn't any food at the brief team meeting. Gabrielle finished making her tuna salad.

"How would I do that?" Harry asked.

"Mostly by spending too much time on the couch," Harry said.

"So by turning into Titus?" Gabrielle countered.

"Yes," Harry nodded. "Is that fair game?"

"What?" she asked, looking around.

"The tuna salad. Is it fair game or are you saving it for something?" Harry asked.

"Oh no. I just had a craving for it. I made far more than I would ever eat. Go ahead. I figured I would just leave it in the fridge and hope people ate it."

"Awesome," Harry said. "I think I'm going to make myself a sandwich then."

"I can do that for you," Gabrielle said. She immediately reached out for the bread near her.

"You don't have to do that," Harry responded.

"I know," she said. "But I am offering. Do you prefer it on bread or toast?"

"Toast," Harry admitted.

"Okay," she said and started toasting the bread. She also took out of bag of popcorn and cast a charm on it so it slowly started to magically heat. Harry didn't recognize the charm just based off sight, and she'd uttered the incantation in French, but he preferred to just use the microwave whenever he made popcorn. Still, she seemed to know what she was doing.

And honestly, Harry thought that if the entire thing blew up it would be worth a good laugh, even if she wouldn't appreciate his teasing her about it for the next few months. But before he could comment Gabrielle handed him a plate with the sandwich on it.

"Thanks," he said, standing at the counter and eating it. It was perhaps a bit sweeter than he would have made it. But he wasn't going to complain about free food.

"You are welcome," Gabrielle responded. She moved over to finish with the popcorn then, putting it all into a large bowl. Harry noticed she didn't add any salt or butter, but he didn't comment. Although he suspected that Titus would have something to say about that.

"I smell popcorn!" Titus said as he wandered into the room. Harry noticed that he'd changed and was wearing a Ballycastle Bats t-shirt and some plaid pajama pants. He just raised an eyebrow at his friend as he entered. But Harry decided it was more pressing to finish his sandwich.

"I did not put anything on it," Gabrielle said.

"That's fine," Titus smiled. "I like it plain." Harry moved to the sink and proceeded to magically clean his plate. There wasn't really much debris on it. But he did it anyway. Also, if he thought about it, he wasn't really sure why he decided to do it at the sink. But he always cleaned things there. It must have been some sort of habit he hadn't gotten over.

"Good," Gabrielle said as she put the rest of the tuna salad into the fridge.

"What was the captain eating?" Titus asked.

"The captain?" Gabrielle asked, looking at Harry.

"He was voted captain of the English team," Titus clarified.

"Congratulations," Gabrielle smiled at him. Harry simply put the plate away and shrugged his shoulders.

"Thanks," he said.

"You do not seem happy about it," Gabrielle frowned, looking at him.

"Pretty indifferent honesty," Harry said.

"Why?" Gabrielle asked.

"Because it just means I'll have to do a lot of media stuff, and always be the one talking before and after matches. And I'm usually irritable at that time, so putting on the nice face will be interesting," Harry sighed. "But I'll probably let Titus or the coach deal with the actual in-match changes. I just hope I don't forget that I can call a time out."

"Coach will call one for you if you do," Titus smiled.

"Well that's reassuring," Harry scoffed. "Why would people vote for me anyway."

"Because you are Harry Potter," Gabrielle said.

"She's right," Titus laughed.

"Three of seven is hardly a ringing endorsement anyway," Harry said.

"Six, technically, as you couldn't vote for you," Titus responded.

"I wonder who it was," Harry said.

"No idea," Titus smiled. "But I would suspect your old house teammates for starts," he responded.

"Wood led that team, not me," Harry said.

"Yes, but we both know Keepers make bad in-game captains," Titus said. "They're usually a bit preoccupied."

"So are Seekers," Harry responded.

"Touché," Titus said.

"Who did you vote for?" Gabrielle asked. She was looking between the two of them and they both assumed she was asking each of the question.

"Titus," Harry said instantly.

"Felicity Hillard," Titus said a moment later.

"You did not vote for Harry?" Gabrielle asked. She frowned at Titus and looked rather disappointed with him. Harry couldn't help but notice that Titus shifted around uncomfortably and gave her a practiced frown.

"I did not," Titus said.

"Why not?" Gabrielle snapped.

"Because I figured that Harry wouldn't really want to do it," Titus said.

"Do you want to do it?" Gabrielle asked.

"I am actually a little excited for it," Harry admitted.

"Just don't go sucking up to Lunfrey now," Titus said.

"Oh I won't," Harry said. "That's all your problem now."

"Joy. Daphne is coming over by the way," Titus said.

"Why?" Harry asked, gazing over toward the clock. It was nearly ten in the evening. That seemed unusual for her. Especially on a weeknight.

"Because you have about four interview requests and at least one of them wants to be able to get the story in the morning paper," Daphne said from the doorway to the kitchen. "And I can see Titus gave you plenty of time to prepare."

"As much as usual," Titus said.

"Thanks for that," Daphne said. She leaned against the wall. She was just wearing a white blouse and blue jeans. Harry suspected she'd gotten dressed in a hurry.

"We should leave them to work, Gabrielle," Titus said. He took her arm and the popcorn and led her slowly out of the room.

"Oh, okay," Gabriele said, gazing between Harry and Daphne as she was escorted out of the room. Harry watched them go before turning to Daphne.

"I don't really want to give an interview right now," Harry said.

"Well, Captain, you don't really get a choice in the matter," Daphne said. "I'm not sure who leaked the vote. But every publication in the country wants a few words with you. There was talk of a press conference."

"That's fine. Have it after my next practice," Harry said.

"Two days after the news broke? You know how well that will go over," Daphne said.

"They can deal with it," Harry said.

"No. They probably can't. But that's not really relevant right now. I talked them out of the press conference. And the five separate interviews they wanted to do tonight," Daphne responded. She shifted off of the wall, standing up straight.

"And just how did you manage that?" Harry asked.

"I told them that Graves had a deal with you for the first World Cup based interview," Daphne said.

"Did he?" Harry asked.

"No, but I figured you liked him. And Sarah's a blast to drink with. So we're going to floo over to their residence and you're going to answer questions about quidditch while I have a glass of wine."

"And he didn't mind agreeing on such short notice?" Harry laughed.

"Mind? He was absolutely thrilled," Daphne responded.

"You know you don't really have to come to these," Harry said.

"Yes I do," Daphne said. "Or you'll agree to stuff and be otherwise not properly represented. Now let's go."

"Fine," Harry said. And he led her out through the kitchen and to the floo.

One in the morning found Harry and Daphne sitting in a booth at Underground. The music was perhaps louder than Harry would have liked. And the rerun of the Muggle cricket match on the television wasn't that entertaining, but Harry didn't really care.

He just sat, back to the wall, and stared across the restaurant. He had a beer in his hand that he'd been savoring for the last half hour. Daphne was across from him, her legs were up on her side of the booth and she looked fairly exhausted. She'd had a fair bit more to drink than he had, but didn't currently have a beverage.

The interview with Graves had been fairly straight forward and easy. They'd only talked for a few minutes about the national team. Harry had told him how honored he was to be a part of the team, and how he wished he would be live up to all the expectations and hype.

He went on for a few moments about how much of an honor it was to be selected as the captain by his peers. And that he looked forward to demonstrating that their votes were not misplaced and that he would strive to be the best possible leader he could be.

Harry sensed that Graves knew there was more to it. But he and Harry had conversed about team captains before. But that the older man didn't want to throw Harry under the bus after the unexpected exclusive interview. So any writing on Harry's capabilities or interest in being the team captain wouldn't come until during the world cup, if the team was uncompetitive. Harry knew that the blame would be largely his. And he knew he'd have to come to terms with that before the first quaffle was tossed into the air in just a few months.

But after that discussion Graves asked mostly about the other players on the team. He inquired about what it would be like to play with many of the same people he'd learned the game with at Hogwarts. And he was asked a few questions about his opinion of the other players on the team. Naturally, Harry only gave completely positive answers. But if he was honest with himself, he only really had positive answers to give. He knew very little negative things about any of the members of the national team.

Still it hadn't mattered. He wouldn't have said anything negative anyway.

After that Graves had put his pen down and grabbed them each a beer. They'd spent the next few hours just talking about quidditch and life. It was an interesting conversation. Graves and his wife both seemed to think there was something far deeper between Harry and Daphne than either of them wanted to admit. But after some teasing the conversations moved back to quidditch.

He wasn't sure how long he spent just discussing general strategy and the Falcon's playoff chances with Robert, but it was far longer than he'd anticipated the meeting taking. Eventually Sarah convinced her husband that Harry Potter had better places to be and that he needed some sleep. Graves, grudgingly, let the quidditch star go.

Harry and Daphne floo'd to the restaurant, purely because after just the small sandwich Gabrielle had made, Harry was still hungry. They found themselves at the booth moments after entering. Daphne ordered a glass of wine while Harry ordered a trio of appetizers. He picked at each one once they arrived. It wasn't until much later that Daphne finally spoke.

"So what's up with you lately?" she asked, turning her flushed face to look at him. She picked up the glass of water that sat, largely untouched, in front of her. Harry took a sip and thought about the question.

"Nothing really. I just go about my routine. It's pretty much the same stuff in a different city," Harry said. He took a sip of his beer. He wondered just what Daphne was trying to get at, because she almost never asked about his day to day schedule. Even if it was just filler to generate conversation.

"No," Daphne sighed. "What's up with you lately."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, deciding he probably was missing the point of her question and it was best to make her elaborate.

"You've been acting different," she said.

"No I haven't," Harry agued. He didn't think he was really acting any different than usual, either.

"Yes you have," Daphne said.

"How?" Harry asked, figuring it was better than getting into a he said she said. At least if she bothered to explain he could defend himself. Or at least attempt to.

"We haven't had sex in well over a month," Daphne said. Harry just blinked at her.

"No," he said. "We haven't."

"So what's up with that?" Daphne asked. She tilted her head to the side and looked at him carefully.

"I hadn't really thought about it," Harry said. The words were out of his mouth long before he realized just how terrible of an answer it was. He pressed his lips together immediately and hoped she didn't take too much offense to it. Thankfully, she just started laughing at him.

"Only you," she said.

"I'm not sure if that's good or bad," Harry admitted.

"Me either," Daphne said. "All I really know is that we used to meet up at least once a week, maybe a couple of times a week, and we haven't done that in forever. In fact the last time you met up with me it was to try to bribe me into helping you."

"Well isn't that what I normally try to do?" Harry asked.

"Yes, but usually it's a little more self-serving," Daphne responded dryly.

"Well she needed help more than I did," Harry said.

"She did. She's looking happier, too. And healthier," Daphne said. "Either that or I made her skinnier in my head."

"Well she seems happier. She passed her apparation test the other day. And she's trying out for a ballet tomorrow."

"That should be fun," Daphne said. "But there's ballets that perform in Falmouth that are done by September first?"

"Apparently," Harry shrugged. He knew nothing of the world of ballet so he figured it was best if he kept his responses limited.

"Good luck to her," Daphne said. Harry just nodded.

"She'll do well, I think. Apparently she's really good," Harry responded.

"So you've said," Daphne said. "Have you even bothered with all of the research I did for you?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I've actually read through the entire packet. But I'll be honest. It mostly just confuses me. I was going to compare her height and weight to the stuff in the packet that you had. But I couldn't remember the data and then you showed up and dragged me off to do some interviews."

"What are you just going to walk up to her and ask how much she weighs and how tall she is?" Daphne asked.

"No. She showed me her brand new identification card after she passed her test," Harry said. "I just haven't bothered with the conversions yet."

"I'm good at Math," Daphne said. She sat up and leaned toward him and Harry got the strangest feeling that she was actually interested in this conversation and not simply getting him to talk.

"One fifty-seven centimeters and forty one kilos," Harry said, raising an eyebrow and staring at her.

"Five-two and ninety-ish," Daphne responded without missing a beat.

"That seems light," Harry said, frowning a bit. He didn't remember what Daphne's packet had said for ideal weights of dancers, but he was pretty sure it was three digits.

"It is," Daphne said. "But what is with you two?"

"Nothing," Harry said.

"And that's why she defended you from Titus?" Daphne said. Harry just blinked at her. He wondered just how long she eavesdropped on their conversation before deciding to tell everyone they were there.

"I thought that was just playful banter," Harry said.

"Maybe," Daphne shrugged. "But it seemed more defensive to me."

"I think you're imagining it," Harry said.

"I think I'm not. So, you've done nothing impressionable with a sixteen year old girl?"

"She's seventeen," Harry said.

"Whatever," Daphne raised her eyebrows at him.

"And no. I haven't," Harry said. At least he didn't think he had.

"And you haven't flirted with her or been the usual, fun, playful Harry that only shows up with friends that most young girls wouldn't have a clue what to do with?" Daphne asked. Harry just shook his head and frowned a bit.

"Of course not!" he said, defending himself. He hoped it didn't sound as weak as it did in his head.

"Uh-huh. Sure. Just be careful Harry," Daphne said. "Although I shouldn't be warning you. I haven't known you to intentionally lead anyone on."

"I'm not trying anything with her," Harry sighed.

"I'm sure you're not," Daphne said. "You know what's funny?"

"What?" Harry asked, wondering why she changed the subject. He was a bit distracted though. He was thinking about things he'd said to Gabrielle. He'd meant everything teasingly. But he wondered if that was how she'd taken it. She'd certainly been able to banter right back with him. But maybe she thought he was being far more serious than he was. Or maybe…he just shook the thought out of his head and turned his attention to Daphne.

"I always thought we'd wind up married," she said.

"What?" he laughed.

"Screw you too," Daphne laughed with him.

"And how did that plan out in your fantasies?" he teased.

"We got to around twenty-seven, twenty-eight and decided screw it, may as well be married," Daphne said.

"Sounds romantic," Harry responded.

"Doesn't it, though?" she laughed. "It's silly, I know. But just always sort of seemed to work."

"Until you think I'm ignoring you because I'm a busy quidditch star," Harry said.

"That excuse works better with people who don't know your schedule," Daphne deadpanned.

"I know," Harry said. "But you know, Daph, that I do appreciate everything that you do. And I'm sorry if I'm a pain most of the time."

"Apology accepted," Daphne said. Although Harry wasn't quite sure what he was apologizing for.

"Glad we got that cleared away," Harry said.

"Let's head back now," Daphne yawned. "I need to be up way too early to stay out all night with you."

"Fine by me," Harry said as they left the restaurant. They walked the couple of blocks back to his Falmouth home. Daphne didn't say anything, so Harry didn't keep the conversation going. Really, his thoughts were elsewhere, floating between two blonde girls that he knew and wondering if, perhaps, he hadn't been right to give Gabrielle a room. But he shook those thoughts out of his head as he reentered his house.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. The best way to contact me is typically through PM on the website. I try to respond to all of those.


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